Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection
by SectumSemprae
Summary: Sequel to "Salve, Salvage, & Salvation". Three years after Zsasz's fate, Danielle's life is normal again – only now an unknown menace is sending her notes. Is Zsasz back, or has a new enemy come to play?
1. Prologue

_A/N: So, last we left off, after months of stalking and failing to obtain Danielle's mark, Zsasz had plummeted over the Sprang Bridge. Danielle had survived and gone on to be a self-defense instructor at Gotham General Hospital. This is the sequel, three years after we left the events of __**"Salve, Salvage, & Salvation"**__… Special shout out to fellow Zsasz writer __**pshycogurl335 **__for helping me find the inspiration for the sequel - thank you so much! Enjoy! :)_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman.

-0-

**Redemption, Retribution, & Restitution**

**-Prologue: RUNNING-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Screams echoed in the dank tunnels.

A man's footsteps pounded frantically, rhythmically, drowning out the screams in his own mind.

He glanced back. A guard lay on the wet cobblestones, blood gushing from a knife wound. One hand covered his chest, while the other lay dangerously limp.

The man kept running. He knew they would be after him soon. They would discover his empty cage, empty shackles.

He was never going back there, _never!_

More yelling. It seemed the guards had found their friend in bad shape and the cage empty. "Alert the master! The prisoner Zsasz has escaped!"

_Zsasz? Is that my name?_

He continued to run. Torchlight flickered off the wet, slippery, _treacherous_ cobblestones.

_I-I did it! I can't believe this! I am actually getting out of this hellhole!_

A half-smile graced the prisoner's gaunt face.

There were two paths ahead. His mind said right, but his feet pointed left. Which way?

"This way!" The yelling was getting closer!

He went left. His lungs screamed as he hauled up the incline. The tunnel curved, an area he could not remember. He just hoped there was a way out-

The man pulled to an abrupt stop. His heart pounded wildly. A lowered gate, blocking his escape, condemning him to his captors' mercy. _No! No, there must be another way!_

_Hope! _There was a tiny gap at the top of the gate._ Please, let me be wiry enough to slip through…!_ He scrambled up the metal lattice.

_Thump!_ He landed on the other side, gasping for breath, flashing a cocky smile over his shoulder. Too easy.

His eyes widened.

_Oh no._

A sheer drop awaited him. His stomach lurched sickeningly. The stones were slick this close to the edge, too slick to grab safely. He could see trees, possibly a river at the bottom of the chasm, with fingers of mist weaving through the vast forest below.

There was no way down. No way _forward_.

He was ended right there. For a moment he could swear he saw the light, fading, going out.

Yelling and footsteps invaded his ears. They were coming! They would find him! And then he would go back in that cell, like an animal.

_I won't!_ The thought came with a fierceness. His eyes narrowed. _I will die first!_

The man took a step forward—

**-/-/-/-/-**


	2. Chapter 1: Ass-Kicking Tuesdays

******Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman.

******Redemption, Retribution, & Restitution**

**-Chapter One: ASS-KICKING TUESDAYS-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

"What if Killer Croc attacks me in a dark alley?"

"He won't, Jillian," Danielle said reassuringly. "Now practice disarming Mary."

The young woman's eyes widened. "But what if it's really Scarecrow and he shoots me up with his fear stuff?"

"Remember what I've taught you in this class. Don't go to dangerous places, and you're already a step ahead of the criminals…"

"But what if the Joker finds out where I live and comes into my house?"

Danielle gave her a flat look. "The Joker is dead, remember?"

"Oh yeah…"

Danielle had been a self-defense teacher for three years now. Not all of her students were as…imaginative, shall we say…as Jillian. Most of them were terrified victims of abuse or assault, just looking to avoid the next attacker.

_I was the victim of a serial killer, and I turned my life around._ Danielle thought to herself, rubbing the diamond-shaped scar on the back of her neck and looking around the classroom. _If I can do it, they can do it!_

Theodore waved her over. She winced at the huge bandage on his nose while he shyly adjusted his glasses. "Um, Miss Danielle, can you help me? I can't seem to get this move."

"Demonstrate it for me," she said encouragingly.

Theodore and his sparring partner Lloyd did as she instructed. She watched carefully as they grappled. _He has the moves… but he's closed on one side._

"Open up your posture: you're shielding your left too much." She adjusted Theodore's body gently. "When your posture is open and alert, you can react more quickly to threats."

"But doesn't that mean I'm leaving myself open for a fight?"

"The goal of self-defense isn't to fight. First and foremost, it's to _escape_. You're looking for the quickest opening to run… even if you have to create that opening yourself." She nodded to Lloyd, "Try to notice where his balance is off, and then use his weakness to your advantage." The two men repeated the sequence, and this time Lloyd went flying to the mat. Theodore looked up, a bashful grin on his face.

"Thank you, Miss Danielle!"

She smiled back. "Anytime."

The class practiced for twenty more minutes, and then Danielle called everyone's attention and asked them to stand in a circle.

"You have all practiced so hard tonight!" she smiled proudly at her eager students. "I have a question for all of you to answer: what is your biggest fear? It's important to acknowledge your fears so you can overcome them, and so you'll know you're not alone. Let's go around the room and share our fears, starting with you, Lloyd."

The burly mechanic, who had been attacked by a group of thugs, grinned. "My biggest fear…would have to be getting eaten by a shark and somehow it _doesn't_ choke to death on my bones. Dying in vain!" The class laughed.

"Um…" Theodore tapped his fingers together nervously. "My biggest fear is going someplace dark and getting jumped…not seeing it coming." He adjusted his glasses. The class nodded somberly.

"Mine are psychos," said Jillian. She hadn't been assaulted or attacked before, but was taking the class as a preventative measure. "Like the supercriminals. They're so powerful, and there's just no reasoning with them!"

The next student, Mary, was wearing a violet cardigan to hide the bandages on her wrists. "I'm afraid of failing to be all I can be, " she said softly, pulling the sleeves lower down her hands as she spoke. "I don't necessarily mean my life cut short by an attack or anything, you know – just that I want to live up to my potential… Not let anything hold me back, you know?"

"Mine is being raped," Monica said frankly. A family friend had attacked her. "I—You know, I was lucky last time. I don't want it to happen again, cuz it could be worse next time."

"My fear is that I won't be able to protect my kids," Gertrude rasped. She had no marks on her at all, and she tended to hide her emotions, but Danielle knew that she was still feeling the effects of the mugging; she was with her children when it happened, and the perpetrator had waved a gun in her face for ten minutes before letting them go. "It's harder learning self-defense when you never know if an attacker is going to go for your kids. Makes it more of a challenge."

"Mine is being beaten to death," said Sarah, who was still sporting bruises around her neck from an assault. "Not being able to defend myself."

Becky was drying her eyes on her sleeve. "I-my biggest f-fear is… It's my uncle. That's it. I don't want to say anymore." Sarah rubbed her back.

"It's OK," Danielle said, looking first at Becky and then the rest of the class. "You're very brave for sharing your fears. Sharing is a good first step for knowing how to face them. Cecil, would you like to go next?"

Cecil absently rubbed the cast on his arm. "My biggest fear is not helping a friend in need. If a friend were to ever go through this and feel they have to keep it a secret…my biggest fear is not being a good enough friend to them, to know something is wrong."

Finally, there was one person left: Scott Jones.

When Scott spoke, his voice barely rose above a whisper. He had bandages all over and bruises marred his milky white skin. He still wouldn't tell anyone who his attacker was. "I don't want to talk about my greatest fear," he said, hunching his good shoulder. A mop of brown hair hid his face.

"That's OK. Like I said earlier, you don't have to share if it makes you uncomfortable. Thank you everyone for participating in our lesson and supporting each other—"

"Miss Danielle?"

"Yes, Theodore?" She smiled at the shy man for speaking up.

"What's _your_ biggest fear?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Several of her students leaned forward slightly. When she spoke, the classroom was completely silent.

"My greatest fear," she began, "is that I will fail one of you or possibly all of you, and some monster will snuff out your brightness. My fear is that in spite of all our hard work here, small-minded criminals will continue hurting people and keeping everyone living in fear and pain." Absently, she rubbed her hand over her face - over the thin scar that ran across her forehead and nose. "And if I'm honest with myself, my greatest fear is to become a victim again."

Her class knew that she herself was the former victim of a serial killer. What they did not know was that the serial killer was none other than the infamous Victor Zsasz, who kept a tally on his skin for each victim after posing their lifeless bodies. None of them knew that he had attacked her multiple times, each time growing more and more fixated on his victim, his "zombie".

But then they didn't have to know these things. They knew that she was like them – a _survivor,_ hoping to rebuild her life in the wake of horrific abuse – and that was enough.

"That," she continued, smiling, "is a huge reason why I teach this class. Each time I do, I am facing those fears head on." The students relaxed at her words and many of them smiled. "This is the end of our class for the day. I will look forward to seeing you all on Thursday, and remember that you can always call me if you need advice or support. Good night, and stay safe."

The class dispersed.

* * *

Danielle rolled her shoulders slowly and sighed as she left the office. As much as she loved her work, class always took all the energy right out of her. _I wish I could just teleport home._ The hospital hallways were empty at this time of night, except for the emergency ward upstairs. She was all alone.

She passed the wooden door of the Records Room, her old job, quickly. When she passed the mailroom, she stuck her hand in her cubby out of habit. Her fingers touched paper.

"Ahh, the joys of paperwork…" she trailed off in astonishment.

Her name was written in beautiful cursive, on slightly weighty paper. _A note? Looks like something to read over tea. _She stuck it in her pocket. _God, I hope it's not a love note…_

She took the elevator up to the ground level. No sooner had she arrived, the one across from hers opened, and none other than Bruce Wayne stepped out.

His blue eyes twinkled when he saw her. "Hey, Danielle! How are those new pads working out?"

"They're perfect, Mr. Wayne!" she beamed. "Our students were just practicing on them now and they say they're softer! Thank you so much! We even have a little of the funding left, so I might spend it on more kneepads, other supplies…"

"That's terrific!" She was never sure if Bruce Wayne were listening or not. In spite of his charm, he had an airheadedness to him that was both enviable and frustrating. But she didn't mind. It was Bruce Wayne's funding that had reopened the hospital's self-defense program in the first place. She owed him, and to top it off, he had practically given her the job himself, thanks to her friend Mrs. Phillips.

"How's your family?" she asked earnestly. "How's your little girl?"

"Oh, Selina's fine," he smirked. Danielle smiled, picturing the fiery socialite Bruce Wayne had married. "She's at some charity event right now. And Helena's great. She's getting so big. She really keeps us on our toes!" A rare, genuine smile graced the billionaire's face.

"She must be beautiful."

"She really is. Well, I'd better get home to her!"

"Have a good evening, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce, please," and with that, the billionaire hurried outside to his waiting car.

She saw Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne's personal butler, holding the door open for his master. _One more person **he** meant to kill but didn't,_ she thought to herself_._ Sometimes she was tempted to talk to Bruce Wayne about it, ask how his butler felt as a fellow survivor of the madman. She would love to talk to someone with similar experiences and compare notes. But she didn't want to overstep her boundaries.

* * *

_BRIING!_ As always, she jumped at the sound of the phone.

"Hey Dani, how was class?"

Danielle laughed. Cindy Gibson, her best friend, always called her when she got out of the office. Cindy left work an hour earlier than Danielle, now that she lived with her boyfriend Dante. The two girls had been housemates for three years, up until very recently, and Cindy still worked in the Records Room down the hallway. Danielle thought Cindy worried about her sometimes, being alone now.

"Class was good as always. They're getting it. How are the stacks?"

"Ugh!" Cindy groaned. "If I have to re-catalogue one more file from August, I swear I might-!"

"Might what? Resign?" Danielle teased.

"Might knock Ms. Davis out and then resign! After I get her an icepack, that is. But enough about the dreaded mounds of papers. See any cute guys in your class that you might wanna…you know…"

"God, so unprofessional! You know I wouldn't date one of my students." _Actually,_ she thought, _I'm probably not ready to date anyone at all. Maybe I never will be._ "Though I did get a note today…"

"Ooh!" Cindy could barely contain her enthusiasm. "Is it a love note?"

"I don't know! I haven't read it yet!"

"Why haven't you? Trying to kill me with suspense?"

"I'm going to read it over tea when I get home," Danielle laughed. "Now I'd better get going. It's dark already… And you know how dangerous it gets around here at night."

"Always the self-defense teacher," Cindy teased affectionately. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Bye!" Danielle slid the cellphone back in her pocket and wrapped the thick wool jacket more snugly around her body.

There were no cars or people on this street. Long dark alleyways stretched off of the main street, leading to empty places. For a self-defense teacher, the irony was not lost on her how isolated her walk home was. Not even a bus ran down this way. But it was the only way home with constant streetlights. The can of mace slapped lightly against her leg from the pocket of her long jacket.

It was times like these when she wished for her baseball bat.

_Always be mindful of your surroundings._

The orange lights of the hospital faded as she walked down the darkening streets, back home to the Coventry District. If she were a younger and more naive person, she would go out wandering all night, looking at all the lights displays as the holidays approached. Maybe go someplace like Gotham Square and watch all the young couples wander as well. She missed those carefree days. Even with…with _him_ chasing her, there had been times where she felt so…liberated.

_A knife biting into her shoulder, neck, arms, abdomen, across her face—_

The streetlights made the frost on the pavement glow a golden color. It had not snowed yet. It was late November, and the snow wouldn't be here for another week, most likely. She shivered and walked faster. Winter was coming.

_Never mind tea. What about a nice hot cup of coffee!_

Out in the distance on the other side of the water, the downtown skyline stretched, the part of Gotham that never slept. The lights of the bridge blinked and twinkled like so many stars. She used to cross that bridge every day, into the Bowery District, her old home. Now that she lived in New Gotham, she had to find occasion to go over there. It had been a few weeks since she had visited the piers in Amusement Mile. She hoped that the sea lions were braving the cold successfully.

_A flash of a man, standing behind her, fingers on her neck—_She didn't bother to turn. The flashbacks didn't bother her so much anymore. Not anymore.

And yet she stopped, fist clenched. Three years, three _long _years, and sometimes it felt like only yesterday.

Her tormentor was gone. He was dead. Victor Zsasz was dead and gone – _and she was the one who had killed him._

_You bastard,_ she thought. _Even from beyond the grave, you haven't gone away. Why? Why can't you just let me be in peace? Accept it. You lost. You didn't liberate me! You never will. _Sometimes she wondered if she were really talking to Victor Zsasz, or to herself.

When she walked among the tall buildings, she couldn't help but think of the way she used to run through the streets, hoping he wasn't chasing her, knowing he would find her again. Now it seemed she could never truly escape him, not with her career, a sick monument of sorts to their legacy. Sometimes she swore she heard his voice on the wind, calling her name. But of course there was no one there. Was he watching her now? From the other side?

_Her own fingers, trailing along tallies of scars drawn on warm skin—No—Never again…_

She looked up at the beautiful holiday lights, but the sadness prevailed. And she hated herself for it. _Would he be here to see it, if he had lived? Maybe I could have reformed him… God… Did he really have to die? _She scoffed. _I shouldn't feel pity for him! Think of how many people he would have killed in the last three years, if he were still alive…_

_Would he have walked these streets someday, appreciating every breath of fresh air that swam into his lungs? _–Why, why did the guilt always persist, when logically she knew it was for the better?- _Would he have strolled along, without seeing a single person as a zombie who needed to die?_ His 'salvation', he called it. If she hadn't done what she did, he would still be "saving" people, giving them the gift they never wanted. _I gave them a gift by killing him! If that monster had lived-!_

_If he lived, would he ever have made amends to all the families he hurt? To the hundreds of victims? _Her thoughts swirled chaotically. She breathed deeply. He always brought this chaos with him.

-With a jolt, it seemed she was upside down again, the cold salty breeze on her face, hearing screams. Seeing his cold eyes fade into nothingness…-

Danielle closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'll be there soon," she whispered to the listening breeze. "I'll come visit soon." _Like I do every month on the 2nd day. I'll stand again above the cold waters of the Sprang River, and I'll remember._ "I won't forget what you taught me… even if you are a bastard, Victor Zsasz."

The few months he had been around had changed her – for good. She was stronger now, much more alert – also more jaded and guarded in many ways. Scarred. But he had taught her to value life more than she ever thought possible, and she would always be thankful for that. _If he had lived, could I have taught him the same?_

Oh well. She had killed him. She would never know the answers to those questions.

* * *

Steam filled the small kitchen. Thank goodness it was Tuesday; if it were Wednesday, Kairi Tanaga would already be kicking her butt at the dojo. It felt good to relax for a change.

She looked out the window into the dark night. _Hope everyone's keeping safe, especially Scott. I wonder who did that to him._

A few minutes later, cup of green tea in hand, she lounged back on the white couch, a purchase from when Cindy still lived here. She groaned. That's right! Cindy would be hounding her relentlessly tomorrow over tea – over that note she had gotten today! _If_ it was even a love note…

She sighed. She hoped it was just some professional note. The thought of giving herself romantically to anyone ever again—she could feel her stomach tighten and acid rise in her throat. She couldn't. Not now. Possibly not ever.

The inside note was written in beautiful calligraphy. Heart sinking, she began to read:

**_Silly teacher came to teach,_**

**_Little students came to learn._**

**_Every week a skill they reach;_**

**_Every week a new one burns!_**

**_Pretty teacher wants to help:_**

**_You ought to quit while you're ahead._**

**_Hold off on your noble cause_**

**_Or I shall paint your classroom red!_**

**_Little teacher, causing trouble,_**

**_Listen, and choose a diff'rent path,_**

**_Or harm befall the ones you lead –_**

**_Wait and see and face my wrath!_**

-0-

Her stomach turned to ice. The paper slipped softly from her hand. "That's not a love note…"

_**-/-/-/-/-**_


	3. Chapter 2: Return

******Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman. Promise.**  
**

******Redemption, Retribution, & Restitution**

**-Chapter Two: RETURN-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

_Cinnamon exploding in her mouth – Cindy holding the largest pastry she had ever seen in front of her – The streetlight goes out with a faint buzz – A dark alleyway – Ethereal blue light shining down – The full moon – **"CAW CAW CAW CAW!"** A scream against the night – The flutter of feathers __– _Footsteps – A long shadow against a building – A grinning face – A forehead with four slashmarks – **Sswisshhh!** – Zsasz cackling as his knife bites – A flurry of ravens descends, tearing away raw flesh – Zsasz reaches out with nails that are too long—

* * *

Going to work the next morning was almost painful, on four hours of sleep. Danielle rubbed her face as she walked through the hospital hallway.

_Silly teacher came to teach  
__Little students came to learn_

Her jaw clenched and she shook her head in disbelief. "So, some asshole thinks it's a good idea to threaten my class, do they?" she whispered to herself. "Time to report this fool to the police!"

"Hey girl!"

She spun around. "Cindy!" She breathed deeply.

"Hey did you forget about our tea date, or are you that eager to get started on work?" Cindy frowned. "Hey Dani… You don't look so good. What happened?"

"I- uh-"

Cindy grabbed her arm. "C'mon, tell me over a nice hot cup of something!" She yanked her reluctant best friend down the hall, into the elevator, and over to the small on-campus cafe. As soon as they sat down, hot drinks in hand, Cindy leaned forward, her expression concerned.

"You were in my dream last night."

Cindy raised an eyebrow, and Danielle couldn't help but imagine her with cinnamon frosting all over her face. "Was it a good dream? Was I an action hero kicking ass?"

"I wish! It was more like a nightmare… We were eating a pastry, and then suddenly I was in an alley by myself. Then Zsasz attacked me." She put a hand automatically to her neck. There were two scars there: the diamond one just above her shoulders, and a thin one that marred the left side.

"Have you been getting flashbacks lately?"

Of all people, Cindy would understand. She was the one who had held Danielle through the screaming nightmares, the tears and the months of sleeplessness, Victor Zsasz's final and lasting legacy to her.

"No, not especially." She sighed. "I just don't know, Cind. They never found his body. He could still be out there somewhere - which he isn't because, you know, the fall killed him and all! But on top of everything else he put me through-"

"You don't even get the confirmation that he's dead," Cindy finished her sentence. They had been through this so many times. She wouldn't be surprised if her friend suffered from PTSD.

"And like that's not enough… You know that note I told you about yesterday?"

Cindy didn't like her friend's tone. "Yeah?"

"It—it was a threat."

"What?! From who?"

"I have no idea. It's written like a poem, but it had all this scary stuff in there about 'I shall paint your classroom red!' and 'face my wrath!' Totally psychotic!"

"Oh my God, are you serious? What do they want?"

"They want me to stop teaching self-defense."

"They what?" Cindy scowled. "Why, because people are fighting back? So this person's some sort of criminal who thinks your class is bad for business or something?"

"You know…" Danielle grinned unexpectedly. "I didn't even think about it that way! That must mean we're doing something right, if the wrong kind of people are threatening me!"

"Whoa girl! You don't want to be attracting that kind of energy…"

"I know—God, I know. Well, it doesn't matter. I'm reporting it to the police as soon as I go to my office."

"You should do that right now! Let me let you go…"

"I thought you should know, just in case," Danielle admitted. "I made a mistake last time, when I didn't tell you about Zsasz. I could have put all of you in danger. I _did_ put Matthew in danger—"

"And you still stuck your neck out for him, the ungrateful douche," Cindy muttered.

"—So be mindful of your surroundings, just in case. Hopefully it's just some crackpot trying to scare me."

"Dani," the file monkey shook her head, "you've got more than enough to worry about. You don't have to worry about me too." She stood up slowly and stretched. "I gotta get back before Ms. Davis gets in. But call me—" she ordered her friend, a serious look on her face, "After you call the police, I mean. Or just come down the hall to let me know you did it. Call me when you get home tonight too, I want to know you got in safe. Call me anytime, even if it's in the middle of the night. I'm always here for you."

Danielle smiled softly. "I know. You're the best friend I could ever hope for… But maybe I won't call you in the middle of the night." She grinned. "I don't want to interrupt whatever you and Dante might be doing!"

"See, this is why we need to get you and Julien together! You should invite him for Friday night!" Cindy stuck her tongue out sassily as she left the small hospital café.

Danielle sat for another moment, readying herself to go call the police. _I learned my lesson last time. No more taking on the world by myself._ Sighing, she hurried out of the café, leaving her tea untouched on the table. As she sprinted through the lobby, she caught sight of her friend and hospital secretary, Mrs. Phillips, and strode up to her desk.

"Are you here to tell me the latest hospital gossip?" the old secretary asked, looking up from her paperwork.

"No, I leave that to Cindy," Danielle grinned, leaning against the information desk.

"I saw her flitting through here earlier, all abuzz with coffee. She offered me some, but I declined."

"You should have said yes! You look as exhausted as I feel."

"It is entirely too early in the day to feel exhausted, my dear. You should take more Vitamin C."

"I do take those chewy tablets!" Danielle shook her head. "Maybe we should both turn in early tonight."

"Don't sleep your youth away, my dear! It doesn't come back easily…"

"Neither of us should be wasting our youth, Mrs. Phillips. We should take a day off together, go run amok! We could go to the spa together with Cindy and Elaine!"

Mrs. Phillips sniffed. "Impossible! Someone must keep this place organized." She gave Danielle a droll stare. "You've seen how confused the registrants over there get about which floor radiology is on – it's down the hall from emergency of course, not maternity!"

"Well consider it, maybe for your birthday? You know Elaine will hound you if I don't," she said cheekily.

"Oh yes, that Elaine…" Mrs. Phillips shook her head and took off her glasses once more, rubbing them softly with a cloth. Danielle could swear she saw a smile at the corners of her mouth.

She owed everything to Mrs. Phillips. She had been the one to encourage Bruce Wayne to reopen the self-defense program. And she had told Bruce Wayne to approach Danielle about getting involved. In many ways, she saw Mrs. Phillips as a surrogate grandmother figure, especially since hers had passed away several years ago. _I'm so lucky to have her and Cindy… _She gave her dear friend a wide smile before she hurried down to her office.

She threw the wretched note on the desk and reached for the phone.

Before she could pick up the receiver, the phone rang first unexpectedly. Cautiously, she picked it up. "Hello?"

"Miss Lee?"

"Yes?" She half-smiled. "Is this-"

"There's something I need you to do. It concerns your student Scott Jones."

"Absolutely. Whatever you need."

"Do this, and then meet me tomorrow night…"

When she hung up, she sighed for a moment. First the note, and now this. "Since when did things get so complicated…" she whispered before she picked up the phone again to call the police.

* * *

"Thank you again for coming out on this cold Thursday night!" Danielle told her students, silently swallowing her apprehension behind a façade of confidence. "Before you go, I have an announcement to make. Two nights ago, I received a threatening letter here at the hospital. Whoever it was is demanding we stop the self-defense classes, and they made threatening statements against me and all of you if we don't comply." She appraised her students; several of them looked terrified. "The police have said that we will keep the classes open for the time being as they attempt to catch the person, but I am obligated to let you know, in case you would like to quit for your personal safety." She waited. She had only lost a few students from her classes yesterday. She wondered how many more she would lose.

Jillian walked out first. She had a feeling the young girl would, and she felt a pang in her stomach. The pang deepened when Mary gave her an apologetic smile and followed Jillian. Finally, Gertrude sighed before walking by the entire class. "Sorry," she rasped. "I have kids to think about." The door clicked closed behind her. The remaining students kept their attention on her; she saw the resolution in their eyes.

"If any of you change your mind between this class and the next - it won't be held against you! And for you who stay, we will do our absolute best to keep you safe! Keep practicing, you can never practice self-defense too much. Stay safe, and remember – always remain aware of your surroundings!"

The class began to disperse. She saw Scott start to head for the door.

"Oh Scott, excuse me…" she called. The student stopped and turned, questioningly. "Would you mind staying and helping me pick up the supplies?" She was in luck when her student nodded and headed toward the supply basket.

She winced as he moved painfully, hindered by the bandages on his body. It amazed her that he had chosen to stay, in the face of possible danger. _But then, he already is in terrible, definite, immediate danger, isn't he? _It was time to get Scott Jones a very special ally.

_Now how am I going to do this? He's terrified. He's not going to want to talk about what happened. The nurses and police already tried. Think… think…_

"Miss Danielle…?" She looked up to see Scott holding the supplies basket.

"Why thank you!" she said cheerfully as she brought over the kneepads.

Scott hunched his shoulders.

"Hey, you know, I want to tell you something…" she said. Scott looked up apprehensively. "You're not alone. I can tell you're a lot like me."

He looked puzzled now. "How do you mean?"

Danielle nodded to the bruises and bandages all over him. "There was a time when I was covered head to toe with bandages." _And to this day I am still covered in scars._ "I woke up upstairs in the emergency wing after being unconscious for three days."

Her student was leaning forward slightly, pupils dilated. "What happened?"

"I had been walking home from here, before I was a self-defense instructor. I walked past this park… and I saw these dead bodies on a bench, and there was a man playing with them." Scott shivered. "He saw me, and I ran away, but he found me a few days later. He attacked me inside my own apartment."

"How did you get away?"

"I jumped out my living room window and landed in the middle of the street. When I woke up in the hospital, I was in bad shape. It took everything I had to stay alive." As she spoke, she began to wonder - _why am I so afraid of this note-writing loony, when I've survived worse?_

Scott was nodding quietly.

"I get the feeling it's the same for you. Isn't it?"

Scott raised his head to look at the fine cracks in the ceiling. After a long moment, it was as if a weight came tumbling forward, and Scott spoke with a trembling voice. "You wanna know what my greatest fear is?"

"What is it, Scott?"

"It's that when I leave here, tonight, when I get off the bus and go home, that—that they'll be waiting there for me. To kill me."

"So a group of them is after you?"

He nodded. "I—" His voice broke. "I got a call early today in the office. They… want another meeting soon. I'm-I'm so scared…" He struggled not to break down. "I don't know what to do—"

"Hey…" she said softly. "You know something? Everything that's said in this room stays in this room. You can tell me the situation, and I can figure out a way to help you."

"But-but what if they find out I've been talking to you-"

"They won't. I understand. You're scared. Tell me if there's any way I can help you, anything at all, that will give you an advantage and keep you even a second safer. I'll do everything I can to protect you, Scott."

He swallowed. "There's more. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"No. I won't tell anyone. Anything that's said in this room stays in this room. Now what else is going on?"

* * *

The evening mist cooled her flaming face. So it wasn't just a random bullying. An organized crime group was targeting her student. She couldn't even begin to imagine his fear…

_Those monsters are going to pay!_ she thought darkly.

As she stalked down the streets, she passed one particularly dark alley and glared mistrustfully into the shadows. Only then did she notice the pastry shop on the corner for the first time. Automatically she looked behind her for the knife-wielding psychopath from her nightmares.

_Above her!_

She spun. The fluttering of wings overhead… _Not a crow after all…_

"You wouldn't happen to be stalking me, now would you?" she called.

"Very funny," Batman intoned as he landed on the pavement and strode toward her. She had the distinctive feeling that he had deliberately let her hear his approach.

The streetlights gleamed off his cowl, the leather and metal of his gauntlets, creating a mask of strength and fear. Danielle smiled. In spite of how intimidating he was, even to her, she always felt so safe whenever he was there.

"What have you found out about Mr. Jones?"

She straightened up. "He was attacked by the docks last week by a group of thugs, when he was on his way home from work. They're working for someone who wants trade-related information from him."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "What kind of information?"

"They've been working with a special element. Scott says he's a chemist for a private company – Zucchini Chemicals or something."

_Zubin Zucchini. I know him. Last I heard he was working in sulfur._ "Go on."

"They called him today at work to set up another meeting but they haven't specified the date or place yet." _He wanted me to show him how to defend against a knife attack. Heck, he wanted to know about my scars!_ Her hand rose to the diamond scar on the back of her neck. _Those monsters must have cut him up too, in a place that isn't visible, or else threatened to._ "They looked part Italian, he said, and were dressed in plainclothes. One of them was wearing a lot of rings, but he couldn't remember what the insignias on them were…"

"Sounds like a crime boss," Batman mused. His mind worked quickly; the Falcones were making moves to come back into the shipyards. They had a long history of bribing or stealing from certain companies. It was probably them. "Is Mr. Jones safe now?"

"He's staying with some friends, starting tonight for as long as he needs to, but he thinks they might try to come after him again. His friends have been driving him to and from work and making sure he doesn't go anywhere alone."

"Thank you Miss Lee, you've been very helpful. One more thing."

"Yes?"

"I got a message from Commissioner Gordon. Something about a note?"

"Yes," she sighed with relief as she gave it to him. The police had not taken it with them yesterday. As Batman accepted the small disturbing piece of paper, she felt a great weight dropping off her. Suddenly, she felt like everything was going to be OK.

"Charming nursery rhyme," Batman muttered. "Any idea who could have sent this? Have you made any enemies?"

"I have no idea," she answered honestly. "I gave my statement to the police yesterday, they said they'll try to track whoever it is down… You don't think it's from the same people who are targeting Scott, do you?"

Batman noticed that her posture had changed slightly, a difference from the assertive young woman Danielle had become over the last three years. This note must be really upsetting her, not that he blamed her. Someone was threatening the cause that he and Danielle had built: the self-defense classes. _Someone_ was not happy… and while he had an idea of whom, he needed more clues.

"Commissioner Gordon said they're reviewing the security footage in the hospital to see if they can spot the suspect. If they can't - _I'll_ figure it out who's behind this."

She nodded. "Thank you, Batman—" When she looked up, he was gone.

No, not totally – there he was, sailing up through the frosty air, slipping away into the night. She raised a hand in thanks and saw him wave back.

She couldn't help but think that he must have a heart of gold to do what he did, risking his life to save Gotham every single night of every year. He had certainly saved her. He had been the source of her inspiration when she was at Zsasz's mercy, at the darkest moment of her life. And this was why she vowed to be as helpful to the Dark Knight as possible. One person should not bear the weight of the world alone.

_Hopefully he's not alone. He has Robin, right? And Batgirl. And… _Even though she hadn't seen Catwoman again, not since that night on the Sprang Bridge, she held out hope that somehow the femme fatale and the Caped Crusader had found solace in each other. _That would be rather…romantic. _A giddy smile graced her face.

* * *

The boat slid slowly into the mooring position at the docks of Amusement Mile. All hands stood at the ready to unload the cargo – all hands but four.

Footsteps echoed on the upper deck, where no one else could hear. Warm blood dripped slowly from still fingers. Four dead sailors sat in a room, reading nautical maps. A man walked out of the room- _The room was always so hot after a kill_- blood from his boots smearing the hardwood floor. More blood, more crimson liquid, dripped from the knife. His hands shook, and the knife dropped with a loud clatter.

He walked slowly and barely evenly. A faint buzzing jostled his ears. He couldn't tell if the sound came from his own racing thoughts or from the hum of the ship's engines.

The man gazed blankly out at the cityscape, no emotion on his face. And yet he knew that he had come to the right place. There was something…here, waiting for him.

The man pulled the jacket around himself tighter. He noted that the air was cold, almost winter. He hoped he has not been followed. He knew that no matter where he went, he could be tracked. He had the sense that he wasn't safe anymore and that he was more vulnerable than he ever was before. But he knew this city was familiar. Safety lay here somewhere.

The planks had been lowered. It was just a matter of slipping away when no one was looking. When everyone was distracted.

He didn't have long to wait. One of the workmen dropped a box, and the commotion drew everyone around him. Meanwhile the man disembarked and as his bloodstained leather boots touched land, specifically cobblestone, cold blue eyes peered up through the heavy hood of the coat to glare out at the scenery. In his thoughts, he heard a dark chuckle.

_Hello Gotham – I'm back!_

**_-/-/-/-/-_**


	4. Chapter 3: A Flash of Black

**A/N: **There might be some random references to other Batman media aside from the Batman: Arkham series scattered in my story. Some stuff from B:TAS, Batman Beyond, the Nolanverse, etc. Zubin Zucchini is from the old Adam West "Batman" series in '66. Just in case any details look randomly familiar...

4SeasonsChick and pshycogurl335, thank you so much for the reviews! :) I was wondering, what do you guys think about the chapter lengths? Are they too long, too short, or good as is? Thank you in advance!

******Disclaimer: **I do not own Batman. Not even in my dreams.

******Redemption, Retribution, & Restitution**

**-Chapter Three: A FLASH OF BLACK-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Cobblestone gave way to pavement beneath his boots. The man was very aware of the cold silver moonlight, splashing down from above…and his hands…covered with black _blood._

Why had he done it?

What had those men done to deserve it?

He scratched his arm, not noticing the blood that smeared on his skin. "Why was I on that boat?" Somehow, when he tried to think of it, his mind was fuzzy.

The behemoth lurched beside him in the water, all rust and metal. Yet even its massive vigilance evoked no memories.

"I don't even remember how I got on board…" The man spoke to himself, his voice a frightened rasp. "I was—I don't even remember where I was coming from! I don't—"

To his extreme horror, the man realized he did not even remember his own name.

"Zzzs…"

The man's head whipped around. "Who's there?!" He peered frantically into the gloom.

He had sworn that he had seen a flash of black in his periphery. _Someone was here._

And now the paranoia set in.

_Someone is following me._

He needed to get out of here, but he didn't know where "here" was. Somehow the barren streets looked familiar to him, but he couldn't remember their purpose to him—

_"My purpose is to kill you and save you from the relentless misery of your existence!"_

That high-pitched, deranged voice…those murderous words… They were familiar too. A chill ran down his spine. There was something very wrong going on here, as the four dead sailors on the boat could attest!

_I was standing over them… Their throats were gurgling, and I waited until they stopped… That's when I left them sitting around their maps…_

The freezing wind bit harshly through the jacket. Opening it, incredulously he registered that he wasn't wearing a shirt on underneath. _What kind of nut wanders around half-exposed in this weather?_ The jacket was too small for him, belonging to one of the dead sailors. He felt oddly naked, but that wasn't why. He was missing something.

He looked down at his hand, the blood sticking to his skin.

"My knife…"

_A white hot flash! The knife ripped through flesh like paper, screaming faces, silenced. Not the sailors, but rather a young couple, sitting on a park bench—_

He gasped as the pain in his head receded. The images…they felt so _real._

He had killed people. There was no denying it now. He had done this before. He had done something very, _very, very wrong!_

He dropped to his knees, shivering, feeling the cold of the pavement bite through his cargo pants.

"What is happening to me?" he whimpered through closed eyes.

* * *

It was Friday night. Batman grappled toward Amusement Mile, keeping a sharp eye out. Danielle's tip had yielded some interesting information about Scott Jones's work.

_Zucchini Chemical Company… They've been experimenting with a new compound lately, something related to red phosphorus. From the little we were able to look up, it seems it can be used in meth labs. That sounds like the Falcone family for sure. They might be trying to reestablish themselves after Black Mask seized the market..._

He circled the docks briefly. _No one's here. Where else would they be?_

The office where Mr. Jones worked was not far away from here. He landed in the parking lot. Nothing looked amiss. Spots of oil. A little broken glass, coming from a beer bottle. Cigarette butts… There was a large pile of cigarette butts in one particular place. _Looks like someone was out here for a while… They must be surveying this place! They might have tracked Mr. Jones back to his friends' house tonight when he didn't go home last night! They're all in danger!_

Call it a hunch, but Batman was not one to discount his intuition. He had looked up the information already of where Mr. Jones was staying, based on what Danielle had been able to find out. He summoned the Batwing and flew to the home of the Bixbys as fast as he could, dropping down and landing on a nearby rooftop softly.

The lights were on. No signs of forced entry…yet. Maybe he had beaten them here! A car was approaching now. The plates… _Hmm. I recognize those plates. Benito Sobalvarro… or Bangin' Benny as they call him... one of The Roman's hitmen. They're done collecting information - they've sent Benito here to silence them!_

The car stopped in front of the home. A pudgy man in plainclothes got out. Benito. One other man after him. Two men left in the car. The two hitmen walked up the brick patio to the front stairs. _Time to crash their party._

SWAK! A batarang whirred low through the air toward the back wheel. A soft, unnoticed hiss. _That takes care of the getaway car. I've got to do this quietly. This is a residential neighborhood. No stray bullets._

He fingered the compartments on the utility belt. _Smoke pellets…no… knockout gas!_ A moment later, the men in the car coughed softly and slumped behind the dashboard and wheel, and Batman dropped to the ground from the car's roof.

_They were almost at the door!_

WHOOSH!

The hitmen dropped to the ground, tangled together. "Hey! Get this thing off me!" They struggled as Batman ran forward. Benito managed to get free. WHACK! "Ugh!" Batman stumbled back, and Benito raised the gun with a menacing grin, a killing gleam in his eyes.

SWAK! Benito screamed and dropped the gun, batarang lodged in the handle. He backed away. "Huh! You think you can protect these people, Bats? Not from my boss!" His partner stood up, and Benito used the distraction to scramble past, leaving his partner to face the Batman alone.

"Hey Benny, where're you goin'? Oh God! Please, no-" WHACK!

Benito hid behind the hedge. He peered out around the corner. No sign of the Batman. Dammit, his gun was lying on the patio, out of reach! His friend wasn't making any noises. Forget the job, he'd get those white collars later!

The coast looked clear. The crook began to sneak toward the white picket fence, when a giant black bat hurtled out of the night, knocking him senseless to the ground.

"Gotcha, dirtbag!"

* * *

Hazy eyes opened. Blackness greeted him. _Where am I?_

Had he slept here all night, passed out on the unforgiving pavement, and was it tomorrow? It was still so dark… And now the haze was wearing off. It was so cold…

He could hear water. The salty smell told him he was still by the docks.

"That's right. This…this place is...where I am from." _Gotham._ "I came here- to escape from someone." In spite of the fog he was sure of it. "But…I can't remember where my home is. I don't even remember what neighborhood! I could be miles from home!"

And he couldn't remember _why_ he would want to kill those four sailor men in cold blood.

He held up a hand. Blood still clung to his nails. He licked it off absently as he wandered.

_Where do I go? Do I keep wandering in circles? I'm sure I've seen that one sign for the casino about seven times now… That alley over there…looks familiar. I…did something bad in that alley. Something bad…but fun._

He was dying to know who he was and why he had done what he did. But for right now…

_I still don't remember my own name!_

An ominous laugh sounded in his ears. "Who's there?!" He spun around. No one standing behind him. And yet the laugh echoed in the empty streets.

_...Someone really is following me!..._

Smoke ahead. He jerked to an abrupt stop.

Just outside the shipyard sat another man on a crate, smoking a cigarette and reading a paper in the dim streetlight. In spite of the wanderer's trepidation, the other man did not look up as he continued to read, oblivious. A cloud of white cigarette smoke wafted over, making the lost man cough.

Suddenly, there was a very peculiar tingling in his head. Fear, and something else, something…sinister.

The man looked up from his paper. White and blue clothes, bandana… another sailor.

_He should remain right here…_

"Sir, I'm afraid this is a restricted area. You're going to have to turn around…"

The man drowned out his words. Images, things that made no sense, were appearing before him. He felt his grip tighten—

He looked down, and his vision swam. A knife was in his hand.

He looked back up, a slow, murderous gleam in his blue eyes that the sailor failed to notice.

"Hey, you're looking a little lost, mister—"

The man moved swiftly.

_Sswisshh! _

The knife blurred as the blade sliced through warm flesh, drenching the pavement and splattering the man's face with hot fresh blood. The sailor's voice gurgled, his throat severed. He fell without a fight, clutching his neck.

So many thoughts were swirling through the man's mind, so fast, he felt his head pounding. There was something exciting about what he had just done. Something sick. Something—familiar.

A split second before horror overtook him again, he looked down into the eyes of the dead man and whispered with menace, "My name is Mr. Zsasz."

* * *

"Shomen ni rei!" *

Danielle bowed to the front of the small dojo. A small, fierce Japanese woman stood at the front of the class, black eyes flashing as she took in each pupil's posture and stance. This time, Danielle was the student, and it was a good change of pace. It felt nice to let someone else take control.

The police had called her earlier today. After scouring the security tapes, they still had no leads on the Note Writer, as she had taken to calling the mysterious harrier. They were keeping the case open, for now treating it as a harassment case. The classes would continue for now.

_I wish they'd show their face, whoever they are, so I can give them a taste of my baseball bat! _The fierceness of the thought surprised her. She hadn't touched her baseball bat since-

"Kiotsuke, Danielle-san!"

"Hai, Tanaga-sensei!" she called back, straightening up. Kairi Tanaga was the best of the best, the star pupil of a gifted master ever since she was a young girl. Though only a few years older than Danielle, she was a master in her own right. Bruce Wayne of all people had introduced them three years ago when she had arrived in Gotham to run her own dojo behind the fish market. _So Bruce Wayne, the ultimate billionaire former playboy, knows martial arts? _It was a hilarious thought.

"Partners!" Tanaga-sensei called. Julien approached her, tousled black hair standing high on his head. It looked vaguely like a duck's butt. _If I taught my class the way Tanaga-sensei teaches hers… Well, no one would be foolish enough to attack any of Tanaga-sensei's students. My self-defense class is about avoiding confrontation, mastering escape… This class is all about facing confrontation, mastering a fight._

She just barely managed to dodge Julien's attack. He swerved, fist still outstretched. A hit could have sent her flying.

_My class is intro level at best, giving them a can of mace instead of an empty hand. Tanaga's class is like handing someone a sword! And even a sword deflects bullets better than mace._

She took a half step back and found her center. Julien had paused to study her openings.

_I don't have the resources to train fighters. With my revolving door of students, of victims with broken bones and trauma and fear… The best I can do, is teach them to be survivors._

She pivoted slightly, focusing on Julien's points as well – and moved suddenly as she felt wind from her back. Tanaga-sensei's foot whooshed by her head, missing by a half inch. The teacher landed in front of her in a fearsome, tigerlike crouch, and Danielle's heart rate accelerated.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye as Julien advanced. She moved quickly, eyes darting back and forth to keep Julien and Tanaga-sensei both in her sights. She pivoted again as Julien tried to circle behind her.

_Oof!_ Red filled her vision as the floor bit into her chin and pain shot through her left foot.

Tanaga-sensei stood over her. With grudging respect, Danielle realized the teacher had seen an opening and exploited it, tripping her. She sighed as she got to her feet, gave Tanaga-sensei a respectful bow, and resumed sparring with Julien.

_If that had been a real fight, I would already be dead._

-/-/-/-/-

"You seem distracted today, Danielle-san," Tanaga-sensei approached her after class. Off to the side, Julien glanced over at them and nodded to show Danielle he would wait. She nodded back thankfully.

"You must be more mindful of your surroundings," Kairi said, looking up at her seriously. "When your thoughts are chaotic, it translates to your awareness, and your enemies will take advantage." She nodded to Danielle's left foot. "If you are concerned, grow quiet inside and observe. It will help you."

_Grow quiet inside._ Danielle felt her breathing slow, and as her muscles relaxed, the pit in her stomach, that she didn't even know she was holding, relaxed. "Thank you, Tanaga-sensei."

* * *

Victor Zsasz huddled on the pavement, sobbing, a puddle of vomit at his feet, far, far away from the dead sailor, who was sitting propped up on the crate, snuffed cigarette in hand, newspaper crumpled and spilled and soaked with blood.

For some reason it had felt respectful to pose the body, as if he were honoring the man somehow. But part of the ritual was missing… Before he could think about it, the buzzing in his head returned. But for just a moment, it had all felt so very familiar.

Was he some sort of mental ward escapee? Should he turn himself in to the police? The thought made him angry.

He had called himself Mr. Zsasz. Yes, that _was_ his name. _Zsasz. _Like a hissing of a knife. Serrated like the blade in his hand.

He removed the bloody knife thoughtfully from his pocket. How had he gotten another knife on him? Why would he have so many? He had checked his pockets – he had five others. _What kind of nut am I?!_

_'It seems you are going insane, Killer.'_

"WHAT?!" the man looked around frantically. The voice had come out of nowhere.

"Who is there?" He brandished the knife and spoke softly in singsong, sneering into the shadows, "You cannot hide from me."

_'Look around all you like, it will do you no good.' _The voice sounded very close to his ear. The man whipped his head around.

There was a quiet, ominous chuckle.

"Where are you?" He held up the knife, heart pounding. "Are you the one who's been following me? Do you know what I will do to you if you continue to play games with me? _No one_ plays games with me!"

_'You are in no position to make threats, Killer.' _The laughter continued, and the buzzing in his head worsened.

If he didn't know any better—

"You're in my…head," he whispered. The sudden realization nauseated him.

_'How perceptive,' _the mysterious voice hissed,_ 'Or is your mind playing tricks on you, Killer?'_

"Stop calling me that! My name is Mr. Zsasz, and you would do well to remember it—"

_'Ah yes. The famous Mr. Zsasz. One hour ago you did not remember your own name.'_

Zsasz stopped, and his blood practically turned to ice. "Do you mean to say that this dizziness, these memories from nowhere… The way I cannot seem to remember _anything!_ Is _your_ fault!"

A long pause, and then the voice spoke with sinister delight. _'I suggest you return to the ship you left. Someone will be by to take care of you.'_

He flinched. White-hot pain exploded in his head. _The boat… He was pitching with the waves, hiding in the cargo hold, seasick, praying that the men in black did not catch up— _He gasped for air. As the haziness faded from his eyes, he glared at the nothingness in front of him, clenching his fists in anger. The memory had been drawn from him, as if a long-shut door had been cut open by a burning poker. He knew how he got here now…

"You cannot fool me!" he sneered. "I am not so simple. You either work for them, or you're just a symptom of some sort of insanity I have. Since when do I listen to _voices_ in my head—AAH!"

_A flash of two coffins, his parents—he knew they were his mother and father. His head, bowed and crying, superimposed with a wrecked boat, oh the images rent his brains. And a bridge. A great and terrible bridge—_

Why were these coming to him now? What was happening to him?!

The Voice was still talking, still mocking him.

_'And how do you know I am not an angel, sent to protect you in this cruel world?'_

"You're not real." Cold anger seeped into Mr. Zsasz's voice. "You're playing games with me."

_'Hardly. I needn't play games with you…Killer.'_

"I- already- told you- not- to call me Killer!" Zsasz gritted. "Do you think I am foolish enough to take orders from you when you would as soon lead me into the lion's maw?"

_'You are alone, in a place you do not remember,'_ The Voice gloated._ 'You are helpless.'_

"In case you didn't notice, I am very handy with a knife…" A sickening thought occurred to him. "Or is my recent murder spree your doing as well?"

_'Believe it or not, the capacity to murder has always been in your bones. You have a purpose to fulfill. I merely make certain you are fulfilling it to my wishes.'_

_"_I do not follow anyone's endeavors but my own!"

There was a long pause, and then The Voice sighed with satisfaction. _'Very good. You're beginning to sound like your old self again, Victor Zsasz!' _The Voice hissed out the syllables of his last name._ 'Now pick up your blade and follow my directions. I will not ask you to return to the ship at this time, but I will help you realize your purpose.'_

"My purpose? Of killing?"

_'You are meant to slaughter the whole world. I will guide you. It was always your purpose, your destiny. You will make the world a better place.'_

Zsasz picked up the knife. His eyes shone grey in the moonlight.

_If I ignore The Voice, it might drive me crazier. It might make me slaughter more people! But if I listen for now, then maybe I can learn more and…escape somehow… From whoever is following me. I know The Voice must be connected—_

He stopped dead, horror dawning on him.

"Oh no." He bit his lip as the memory, only a glimpse before, came flooding out in full relief.

_There was someone here. Someone was looking for him._

_A flash of black, a cape against the night. __Gauntlets made of black steel, dark grey armor. A face hidden in shadows with terrifying eyes…_

_Zsasz saw himself dangling, choking from the mighty iron grasp of a monster. He clutched at the gauntlets, trying desperately to free himself. The nightmarish face loomed before him. A deep voice, like thunder: "Victor Zsasz!"_

_"In the flesh, Batman!" he heard himself reply, and then blackness overtook him—_

"Batman!" Instinctively he whipped out a second knife and glared into the darkness, fear and hatred coursing through his veins. _The shadow following me is… Batman!_

"So you're the one," he growled angrily. "You're the one I cannot escape! I remember you perfectly, Batman, how could I ever forget?! IS THAT YOU?! Are you the one playing games in my head?!" He waited, teeth clenched, to hear the answer.

_'I am not…him,'_ The Voice replied with a solemnity that surprised Mr. Zsasz. He knew immediately that The Voice was telling the truth. _'Though I find it interesting that you have now remembered him. Tell me, Victor Zsasz – are you afraid of him?'_

"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "I felt afraid for a moment when I imagined him…" _He's the one who wants to take me back to imprisonment._ "I mean, shouldn't I be?"

The Voice chuckled softly. _'Of course you should.'_

The knife in his hand felt…comfortable. He wished he could find the source of The Voice, so he could slit its owner's throat…not to mention the Batman. _I must be a murderer after all. The thought of killing again is… too easy._

With a rapidly growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach, Zsasz walked into the night, silently listening to the voice in his head.

_**-/-/-/-/-**_

-0-

Translations:

* "Shomen ni rei" = "Bow to the front"  
* "Kiotsuke" = "Pay attention!"


	5. Chapter 4: Research

**A/N:** Thank you 4SeasonsChick for reviewing and Batfangirl7773 and Trudes193 for following! Good to see you again, my friends. :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman. Probably. My memory is fuzzy. :)

**Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection**

**-Chapter Four: RESEARCH-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

It was all over the news. "The near-death experience of three Gotham citizens in a home in a quiet neighborhood, at the hands of two gunmen, was thwarted by Gotham's greatest hero – the Batman!" Vicki Vale's cheerful voice blared from the radio. "Fortunately, the Batman was able to take out the gunmen, and two other men in a getaway car, and prevent what would have been certain tragedy—"

Danielle clicked off the radio and sighed deeply. Scott had called her last night to tell her the news personally. He left a message rambling about how lucky he had been that Batman had been in the neighborhood and how he hoped that no one else would come after him. It made her heart soar to hear the happiness in her student's voice. Hopefully he would be there for Tuesday's class so she could congratulate him personally on his safety, and to covertly make sure there were no follow up threats. He had no idea that she had talked to Batman and she wanted to keep it that way.

She went to the dojo again to practice, and afterward she felt so lighthearted that she went to Gotham Square. They weren't selling ice cream right now, but they did have some delicious hot chocolate.

Monday rolled around quickly enough. She got to the office early, eager to start the new week—strange. She didn't remember leaving the door ajar when she left on Friday evening. Could there have been a reason for anyone to—

No. She knew there wouldn't be. There would be no reason for anyone to enter her office when she wasn't there.

Her blood froze in her veins. Hastily she summoned the security guard from the main lobby. He came grumpily, wanting to go back upstairs to guard the prime area of the hospital. She waited in the hallway, twisting her purse in her hands as the guard checked the room. "Nothing looks amiss, miss," he finally said, and before she could answer he disappeared back down the hallway.

She went inside. The pure white note was sitting on her desk. She knew it would be.

With trembling fingers, she began to read:

**_Naughty teacher did not learn…_**

**_I warned you once and will again:_**

**_Giving people self-defense_**

**_Hastens you toward your end!_**

**_Take a better path and live,_**

**_Make the choice to heed my threat._**

**_Attempt to ignore my warning twice_**

**_Results in your most deep regret._**

**_Excepting if you end the class._**

**_Solace in your skill will not last._**

* * *

_In dreams he floats. Giant ragdolls meander in the opposite direction, feet several inches off the ground, scraping the pink wallpaper. _

_He looks down at his hands. **Blood everywhere!** He gasps. Stinging all over his body, as though he has been cut hundreds of times. He doesn't dare look, afraid of what he might see._

_The doors are oddly shaped, and the clocks are melting. Hands spinning backwards. Bizarre. But not as scary as the moaning._

_He can barely hear it, just a wisp of it at first. But the more he focuses on it, the more he realizes he can hear nothing else. Just the ticking of the clock…and the moaning._

_He tries to will his body to float toward a wall, or possibly toward a chair. They seem bolted down enough. But when he gets there, his grip loosens perpetually and he cannot anchor himself in one spot. For all his efforts to grab on, his hands are too slippery, and his attempts speed him rapidly away from the chair. _

_He keeps moving, more and more swiftly, as the ragdolls continue to pass him by—_

_On closer inspection, there is something wrong. The ragdolls' eyes are black buttons, their mouths sewn shut…_

_And yet each and every one of their throats is slit!_

_Zsasz screams. With a violent start, he realizes that the moaning is coming FROM THEM!_

_With horror, he begins to recognize features about each doll. This one has red hair made of yarn, wears a doctor's white lab coat. The next one, blonde yarn…a red dress…clearly a rich woman. And the one after, black muddy yarn hair, high heels, long nails, a short skirt… condom in hand..._

_They shouldn't have come back! He had saved them! They were gone… So why did they haunt him so?!_

_One by one, the ragdolls pass by him, rattling their porcelain limbs, emitting their low moans and screams… What makes them suffer so much? Can't he possibly do something to ease their suffering? __The blood that drips from their necks is so much louder than the tick of the clocks. Each drop makes the hands move faster._

_Cold steel in his hand. He is holding a bloody knife. The drops of fresh blood from the blade are the loudest._

_A white light lies ahead. He scrambles to grab another chair, and another, and they slip through his fingers like butter. He must not go into the light! If he does, he will be sucked in and incinerated by the white hot pureness of truth! He would cease to exist and his mission would end! Oblivion, forever!_

_Now blood rains from the ceiling, falling on his face like crimson tears._

_One final doll, just before the light of oblivion. This one isn't screaming…_

_Blank, soulless eyes stare at him with chilling recognition. Her porcelain lips part, baring razor-sharp teeth. As Zsasz's mouth widens in terror, the angry doll raises a large baseball bat and swings—_

_-/-/-/-/-_

He awoke with a gasp. Sweat poured off his forehead, and he sighed deeply, almost pleasantly. "Zombies… they're all zombies…"

He had been having flashbacks for a few days. More of the puzzle pieces were beginning to slip into place. He remembered his parents. He remembered how he was orphaned. His familiarity with the blade was growing, as was his bloodlust.

The remorse he had felt at killing the five sailors had slipped away. All he felt now was…peace. Acceptance. _I have given them peace, a precious gift._

He smiled. "So that's what I am…"

A serial murderer. A _savior_ somehow.

_'"Savior" might be pushing it.'_

"Shut up," he told The Voice, and it scoffed in response.

That dream, albeit disturbing, had answered a lot of his questions. He felt a strange comfort as he looked down at the knife that materialized from his pocket. The handle felt so _right_. But he needed to know more.

Why, if he had led such an exciting life before, had he forgotten everything?

What could have happened to him that made him forget?

Who had he been?

_It was her._

_The doll with the baseball bat…the one who was still alive… _She knew him, knew who he was. He could feel it. Somehow she had all the answers.

* * *

The spectrometer had not yielded anything. But Batman was sure that there was something there. Something about it struck him as…off.

He sat in the Batcave, old-fashioned microscope in hand, peering down at the note Danielle Lee had received on Tuesday. He adjusted the lens ever so slowly… There! A slight iridescent sheen on the surface of the paper. But what did it mean?

If he didn't know any better, he would think it looked like-

BEEP! BEEP! His ears pricked up. That sounded like the police station's broadcast.

He pushed aside the note gently and tuned his cowl to hear better.

"Calling all units…" He could hear Officer Montoya's voice over the crackling frequency, "We are sending out an ABP for a suspect in five murders. Suspect is Victor Zsasz. Sending out an APB…"

He quickly patched himself in to a different frequency. "Oracle!"

He heard a yawn. "What is it, Bruce?"

"There was an alert just sent out over the police radio. Something about Victor Zsasz."

"What?! Zsasz is alive?!"

"Can you check the police database for any recent reports?"

He heard typing. "Yeah, here it is. Two separate reports. Four murders committed on the F-120, _USS Lodi, _four sailors. All posed, throats slashed. A knife was recovered with positive ID on Zsasz's fingerprints… The second crime scene wasn't far away. A lone sailor, same M.O."

"Hello, Master Bruce?" Alfred interrupted their conversation as he entered the Batcave, formal as always.

"One moment, Oracle. Yes, Alfred?"

"How do you do, Miss Barbara? Mrs. Selina has readied your breakfast, sir. She's very proud: she made the pancakes all by herself."

"Let Selina know I'll be there in a moment."

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"Victor Zsasz might be back." He stood up. "Oracle, I'm going to check out some of Zsasz's old hideouts. If he's really back, then he's extremely dangerous. I'm going to start searching for him."

"OK."

_It's only a matter of time before more bodies start turning up. I need to move quickly!_

Batman turned apologetically to Alfred. "Come to think of it… Tell Selina that I might need to take breakfast to go!"

* * *

"I need to find her."

_'Whom are you rambling about?'_

"A former victim of mine. She survived somehow. Ah, she has the answers I need." _The reaction I had to her in the dream… She's not a stranger to me, and I am not one to her. She recognized me. Maybe she can tell me what I've forgotten._ "I know that when I see her, it will come back to me." A psychotic smile. "And then I will bathe in her blood. I'm just _dying_ to know how she survived a man with _my_ track record."

And yet even as he talked of shedding her blood, he felt flustered inside. The thought of killing another person surprisingly no longer bothered him… But... _Kill someone, anyone who might have a connection to me?_ he thought._ So easily? And then go back to wandering aimlessly?_

He realized with a start that he didn't want to be alone. It wasn't anything to do with this girl or not - after all, he didn't even know who she was. Rather, it was the fear of being left alone with only The Voice for company… Alone, without even his own memories or his sense of self… But this talk of murdering her burst from him. Somehow, he thought it would appease The Voice to hear of his violence.

_'You would jeopardize your great mission for a mere woman?'_ Zsasz was surprised to hear the derision in The Voice._ 'Are you sure that this is where your destiny leads you?'_ As The Voice spoke, Zsasz felt the vague fuzziness start to return – but he would not be deterred!

"I must regain my memories, and she has the answers. I have never been more certain of anything in my life."

_ 'Memories are overrated. You have a mission now. You must not stop until the blood of all humanity runs beneath your boots—'_

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Zsasz screamed. If he had to listen to that cackling, condescending, disembodied voice for one more second–!

The Voice laughed maliciously. _'If you want me so badly, I challenge you – come and find me. You will find me ready.'_

Zsasz gritted his teeth. The knife in his hand felt good. _"Ohh, today is a glorious day for you to die on!"_ He vowed to himself he would say those words someday – to the corpse that housed The Voice.

He wandered through the empty streets and the frosty air, searching for lost memories. He passed by a large compound with a skeletal sign heralding the desolate place as 'Sionis Steel Mill'. He shivered. Something about the look of the place unsettled him. His pace sped up as he continued past the gates, past the small smelly near-frozen moat nearby, past an old payphone…

White, blue, red, and green lights sparkled in the distance and caught his eyes.

It was _festive_. Beyond the skeletal buildings in this gloomy place were Christmas lights. This cold weather… it could only mean that Christmas was soon to come here. Somehow, the thought cheered him up.

_What do I usually do on Christmas? Do I enjoy the lights, the seasonal cheer? Or do I hate the world for experiencing such happiness while I remain alone? I wish I knew._

He stopped. "Oh…" _Something about this building…_

He went inside. He could hear the rushing of the water so close. There was a large floor-grate system, ruptured pipes, and a large empty chamber in the back of the room with a frost monitor…

"Not this one!"

He checked almost every building he could find in the Industrial District. He was beginning to feel dejected. What had given him the idea, even for a second, that he should listen to his own half-delusional ideas that the answers must be here of all places?

Suddenly, unbidden, the image of the doll came to mind – the one with the baseball bat. She had looked so fierce…and something else. Familiar. He felt an unexpected warmth when he thought of her. It made no sense! But…

"I cannot give up."

He tried another building. This one had large double doors on the inside, which led to a room surrounded entirely by water. The level kept rising and falling. Zsasz looked over the edge.

A skeleton lay on the bottom of the floor, barely exposed even when the water was at its lowest. Shreds of clothes hung off its body – _it looked like a hooded jacket! _He shuddered and continued over the walkway.

There was a glass room in the center, and inside were two cages. Abruptly Zsasz clutched his head.

_-ZZZ!_

_The knife scraped eerily against the metal bars. Goosebumps erupted over his skin. It was- ecstasy!_

_"Oho! Oho ho ho ha ha ha ha haaaa!" the joyous laugh sprang from deep inside him, and he turned away, brandishing the knife again. "You are probably praying I will end your lives quickly. I won't." He smiled into scared eyes, eyes that couldn't stop staring at the shining blade in his hand. "You…you I will gut like a fish!"_

_The prisoner moved away from the bars, terrified, as he swiped the air. Holding the blade up to his mouth, he kissed it. "Muah!"_

His eyes opened. "This is it… This is the place!" He looked down into the water again at the skeleton with a contemptuous sneer. "Poor little zombie…"

There was a floating bridge on the other side of the room, a whole other area he could not get to. Above it, on a ledge, was a vent, and he had seen an open air vent on the outside of the room near the double doors. _If I could just get up there…_

A few tries later, he was inside the vent, crawling along. Here it branched off… and at the end of the narrow tunnel, there was a shorted fuse box with a piece of metal sticking out. To his side, a small nook, filled with a bundle of papers—

Eagerly, lying flat on his belly in the narrow vent, he untied the bundle and realized, to his joy, that they were old newspaper articles, dated to a few years ago. He immediately recognized his name in the headlines.

**'TRIPLE HOMICIDE! ZSASZ LEAVES POLICE POSED!'** This one was dated five years ago. Apparently he had killed three policemen and left them sitting around a table in a strip joint, eating donuts. His brow furrowed.

_There are so many articles here. So many people I killed. And The Voice said I had a mission… Was this my great mission in life before now?_

**'MR. ZSASZ STRIKES AGAIN! SEVENTH STREETWALKER FOUND DEAD.'** Apparently he had been responsible for a string of murders dated six years back in another city. He had been killing streetwalkers, though the reports had indicated he did not engage in any sexual activities with them either before _or after_ they were killed. "So I'm not a sexual predator at least…" he mumbled to himself. _Precious little comfort there._

**'MR. ZSASZ APPREHENDED BY UNDERCOVER COP.'** Apparently his little stint with the prostitutes had gotten him arrested. They had caught him by letting one of the officers pose undercover as a streetwalker, to bait him. His lip curled.

**'ESCAPE FROM ARKHAM! ZSASZ AGAIN ON THE LOOSE!'** Apparently—

_Enough._ He flipped through the articles, ignoring the headlines and instead focusing on the pictures. He failed to see any pictures that reminded him of the doll with the baseball bat. Somehow, he felt, he would just know when he saw her.

Here! The last article, dated three and a half years ago. **'ZSASZ ATTEMPTS HOSPITAL MURDER, GIRL SURVIVES'.** There was a picture of his own face, a mugshot, and a second smaller picture of a girl with long dark hair and big dark eyes.

"Is this you?" he whispered to himself.

Underneath the picture was the caption: 'Danielle Lee.'

"Danielle…Lee," he tried the name slowly, wondering if saying it aloud would poke loose any memories.

_Three and a half years ago? How could she survive for so long?_ He searched again, but there was no article about her death.

He found himself humming a song as he looked carefully at her picture. He could hear the words: "All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces…" He could hear the piano softly in his ears, a ghostly melancholic sound._  
_

_No mention of a baseball bat. But something about her is so familiar… I feel… I feel like I know her… Can she help me remember? Is this why I returned?_

Hope burst in him, soon squelched by a fearful thought. _Or is she somehow responsible for what happened to me? That baseball bat…_ He shuddered. _Did she hit my head and make my memories disappear? Three years ago when the last article was? Or sooner? If I go to her now…_ The thought didn't sit well with him.

He looked at her picture again. She didn't look intimidating. But then, that didn't mean very much, especially considering his own track record. You could never judge a book by its cover.

_Except for maybe the Batman…_ Anger bristled, and then…something occurred to him. Something strange, something he had just seen. Fear pricking up his back, he slowly looked again toward the shorted circuit box. More specifically, toward the metal that had shorted it. His mouth fell open in astonishment.

The piece of metal was in the shape of a _bat._

* * *

With a soft flutter, Batman landed in front of the old hideout. It had been years since he had needed to enter here. There were two other known hideouts of Victor Zsasz; this was the earliest one of recent years.

He could hear the water softly rising and falling from the other room. The police had never removed the remains of the political prisoner Zsasz had murdered here. He had saved the other two… but the unfortunate third man was now one more person who haunted his conscience. _One more person I couldn't save._

He searched the room quickly. No sign of Zsasz. But something in the air… It felt like someone had been here recently.

He turned to go.

A flash of metal caught his eye. Right beneath the old vent near the double doors… Batman came closer to investigate.

Then his eyes narrowed.

There was a knife sticking out of the wall. And speared on the end was one of his own Batarangs.

* * *

Mist swirled around him. The footsteps of doom approaching on an unsuspecting world.

Knives in one pocket. Newspaper articles in the other. A hoodie on from some unfortunate homeless man he had stabbed. Yes. He was Victor Zsasz. And no—

_'Where are you going now, Killer?'_

No stupid voice in his head was going to stop him!

Yet he paused. Glared at the nothingness in front of him, and growled. "To the store. I'm starving." Not waiting for an answer from the mental menace, he walked onward.

The modest store hadn't much. Mostly breads and canned goods, a couple of packaged pastries. Low quality food. He didn't mind. He hadn't eaten in… several days, it felt like. Not counting the blood he'd ingested from his kills.

He bought two small bags of candy, some bread, and a beer. The cashier gave him a look for favoring alcohol so early in the day.

He stared at the cashier. Something about the man was off—No, rather something about the man's _reaction_ to him was off. He stood stupidly at the register for a moment, change collected in his hand, and tried to piece it together. The cashier gave him an impatient look.

It wasn't until he was out of the store that he realized: it was the cashier's _lack of a reaction_ that disturbed him. Somehow, that didn't feel normal.

He looked at his reflection in the store window. Aside from the bags under his eyes, he looked perfectly… normal.

_Something was missing._

* * *

_"And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had…"_

The bridge loomed before him, half concealed by mist. His feet had led him here, and he had followed, despite The Voice's protests and loud mockeries. The mist made the metal smell even stronger, mixed with the salty spray.

This was it. The great and terrible bridge he had seen in the shred of a vision. His mouth fell open softly. _Something happened here. I feel it._

He leaned on the railing and looked down. The waves were far below him, crashing into the pilings. A fall from this height would kill a man—

_Or perhaps the homeless man in the shadows would kill him. The old man stank of urine and cigarettes and bad breath. Several teeth were missing. He must have looked shocked, for the man held out his knife with a sharp jab. "All your money, now!" He felt his pockets. They were empty. The sheer nakedness of the moment crashed down on him. He would die. It was inevitable—_

Zsasz gasped, shuddering and clutching his head.

_And he stared into the beggar's eyes, willing him to understand—and there he saw something…familiar. Something equally inevitable._

_This man was just as alone as he was, needlessly suffering._

_Tears almost stung Zsasz's eyes. He could help. He didn't need to suffer anymore; Zsasz could take away this man's suffering._

The scream of the homeless man echoed in his head, and he twitched, as if hit by a wave of blood. When he looked down at himself, he was clean, and yet the memory stained his skin. He looked again at the railing, eyes calculating, heart darkening. Instead of receding, the nausea worsened suddenly. And to his horror, the next memory burst forth in perfect clarity.

_He walked along the bridge, as the streetlights cast an eerie glow. There! In the middle of the bridge… It was her! The girl from the article… She turned to look at him—his heart leaped in his throat—_

_She listed. Clutched her head. "I'm so confused." The words echoed in the air around him. He approached her._

_"I finally see the world as you do, Zsasz…"_

_He felt a shiver of fear, of despair._

_"We can be happy together!"_

_Shapes blurred around them- Pain- A cutting sensation- Too much!_

_Soft arms wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He looked down at the head of brown hair. "Danielle…" Intense warmth, her head resting soothingly against his chest, and then—falling!_

_The hands that had gripped him, suddenly pushed him, leaving him cold and alone! Her face fading away and the wind bearing down. Plummeting, toppling, tumbling alone into oblivion-_

"No-" he choked as the final memory ripped through him.

He shook his head but he could not block out the images. He saw the railing of the bridge again, fading out of reach, and her face at an odd angle, watching coldly as he fell. Fear swelled in him as he realized he was about to die alone-

This was it. _I understand. My mind could not handle this memory, so it buried it - but it has never stopped haunting my heart._

He closed his eyes, his own screams echoing in his head. And when he opened them, veins bulging, he had only one desire.

"I will kill you, zombie!"

Reason was gone, and blood pounded through him. Oh, he remembered _now!_ He could see her brown hair, the soft smile on her face - the eyes hiding her deceit. This girl, this would-be murderer…

She had tricked and seduced him. Tried to end his life. He shuddered as he recalled again the momentary relief he'd felt when she hugged him. All torn away mere second later when she had pushed him over the edge!

It was time to pay her back in kind!

His eyes swept along, and through the mist he saw a payphone booth. There was even a phone book swinging idly on the inside…

* * *

She sat at home, hands shaking. Officer Bullock had arrived at the hospital to investigate. He had taken the note with him for evidence and told her to go home early. He was right. She was in no shape to teach the class. Was this it? Would the class be permanently closed down?

She hugged the pillow softly to her chest. Everything they had been working for… The work that she and Bruce Wayne and Mrs. Phillips had done… That class was to give them all hope. So that no one would be sitting home alone terrified for their lives ever again. And to think that some arrogant prick had threatened to revictimize them through the very class that undid their victimhood—

Her teeth clenched.

_No, Goddamn it!_

The pillow went flying across the room.

She stood up. Punched the sofa so hard that the wood splintered. Now there was a nice dent in the armrest.

"You think you can intimidate us?!" she ranted to thin air. "You little coward, you write two-bit little anonymous notes and want to shut us down? I dare you! Come and find me, face-to-face. I will make you sorry you ever messed with us!"

She sat down in a huff. Too bad the police said they had to proceed cautiously. She wanted nothing more than to take matters into her own hands. She'd beat every crook who came her way until she found the creep who was writing the notes – and then she'd break each of his (or her) fingers! They'd never write another nursery rhyme ever again!

The phone rang. She checked caller ID, but did not recognize the number.

"Hello?" she said sharply.

There was a long pause on the other end, and for a moment she thought – hoped – that it was the Note Writer.

"Hello, little zombie…"

She gasped.

"Do you recognize my voice?"

Her skin turned to gooseflesh. Her _scars_ ached.

Three long years…

_"It can't be!"_

**_-/-/-/-/-_**

**-0-**

**A/N:** The song Zsasz is singing is "Mad World", Gary Jules' version. I don't own it (disclaimer).


	6. Chapter 5: Remember

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman, or Zsasz.

**A/N:** Thank you 4SeasonsChick and Trudes193 for the reviews. They always make my day. :)

Anyone else excited for _Batman: Arkham Knight_? :D October, woo hooooo!

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection**

**-Chapter Five: REMEMBER-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

Danielle stared at the phone. The room pitched suddenly and she had to hold on to the dented armrest of the couch to steady herself.

_"Do you recognize my voice?"_

"It can't be!"

"Say my name, little zombie. I want to hear my murderer breathe my name with fear in her voice…" his voice grew higher in his deranged joy.

"I—"

"Say it!"

"Victor Zsasz," she whispered. Chills erupted across her skin. "It can't be you."

"'It can't be you'," the cruel voice on the other end mocked her. "But it is! I have returned, and this time it will be for your blood!"

"But how?"

"Does it matter how?"

"Yes! How did you survive?"

A pause, and then a soft malevolent chuckle on the other end. "You sound so disappointed. Did you think your pathetic attempt to end my life would work?"

She took a deep breath. "I—"

"I wonder, do you feel guilty for trying to seduce me, only to betray me in the end? How did you pull it off, zombie? How did you make me sacrifice everything? Well?" His voice rose. "What do you have to say in your defense?"

She wanted to yell, to say it wasn't true, to remind him that she had meant for them to die together.

But somewhere inside of her, a cynical voice spoke up. _How ironic is it,_ it cautioned her, _that Zsasz would return in the very same week that someone leaves you not one note but two, threatening your classes? What are the chances, or are you really so naïve? Someone is playing games with you…_

"How do I even know it's you?" she said slowly. "How do I know you're not someone playing a joke on me?"

"What-" Zsasz heard the abrupt change in tone. "Why-?"

"Victor Zsasz has been dead for three years!" Her voice hardened. "If he were really still alive, he would have come back before now. Sorry, loser, your joke didn't work. Go hug yourself!" She hung up.

Zsasz stared at the receiver, burning with anger. So, the would-be murderer thought she could hang up on him? His lip curled. He had the distinctive impression that he was good at tracking people down before his memory loss. It was time to put that to the test.

-/-/-/-/-

BRIIING! Danielle's landline rang again.

"Are you persistent or what?!" she fumed, staring down at the phone. She was so tempted to pick it up, chew the mystery person out—

BRIING!

—As tempting as that was, maybe she should let the police handle it. Heck, she could copy down the number from caller ID and see if it would help them track this guy—

BRIING!

_Oh crap. Caller ID says this is a different number. It's not him!_

"Hello?" she asked, hastily picking up the phone.

"Sorry to disturb you at home, Miss Lee."

_Batman. Thank god. _"It's no trouble…" _Something must be serious if he's calling me at home. _"Um, was there something else about the people who attacked Scott?"

"No, it's not that. Something happened, and I thought I should tell you personally. There have been two crimes. Five bodies, posed, with their throats slashed. You know what this means."

Her stomach lurched._  
_

"Oh God no—"

"Danielle, Victor Zsasz is back."

* * *

Her heart was hammering in her chest. For a long moment, a haze came over her, drowning out all sound and thought. One sentence floated in her brain: _Victor Zsasz is back._

"We thought you should know about it," Batman's voice snapped her out of her daze. "You were his last target. He has a habit of picking up where he left off. You might need some police protection—"

"No! Ugh, I mean…" she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I-I'm sorry…it's…"

"What is it?"

"I heard from him."

"You what?"

"I thought it was someone just pretending to be him. Funny story really, he called me a few minutes ago. Wants me dead, of course," she said shakily.

"Of course," there was no humor in Batman's tone. "You're in danger."

"We got another note today," she blurted out.

"Another one? With rhymes?" He could hear the fear in her voice, though she masked it well.

"Yeah." She laughed bitterly. "And now Zsasz is—Well, that would make sense, wouldn't it? If Zsasz is alive, maybe he's the one who's been sending me these creepy notes!"

"I wouldn't be too hasty to assume." _Zsasz's M.O. never involved sending written threats before, not that I know of._ "Have you told the police?"

"Yes. They're analyzing it and said they'll get back to me about whether or not to stop the classes."

"You might need more protection than just stopping the classes, now that _two_ maniacs are after you. Check in with Gordon, and stay sharp."

"I will—" Click.

She stared at the receiver blankly and then hung up the phone with more force than usual.

Meanwhile, as Batman's mind raced, he made a call.

"Oracle! I need your help with something…"

"What is it, Bruce? More stuff on Zsasz?"

"Not this time. Can you check to see which regulars at Arkham are imprisoned, and which ones are still at large?"

"Anyone specific you have in mind?"

"Either the Mad Hatter or the Scarecrow. Possibly Riddler as well. Someone's been leaving the self-defense teacher death threats in nursery rhyme form."

"Danielle Lee? Someone's threatening her?"

"I'm amazed they didn't do it sooner. Criminals aren't thrilled when someone starts fighting back, or in this case, several people. They must have found out about her classes."

"Maybe she needs a secret identity…"

"Out of the question! Not after what—"

He heard her sigh into the headpiece. "Bruce, you're going to have to forgive yourself for that one day. I've accepted it. I don't want you to burden yourself with it. You have enough that you burden yourself with."

Batman didn't say anything. He couldn't; he was gritting his teeth too hard. He thought of Oracle up in the Clock Tower, wheelchair-bound, possibly forever. _I wish I'd been faster, Barbara…_

* * *

_Drip, drip._

The Note Writer sighed, flexing fingers, hiding in the damp hole in plain view. The perpetual smell of sweat and rubbing alcohol drifted faintly in the air from the hallway.

Would the little teacher stop the classes? The police had been eager to find clues. There had been none. The Note Writer was too careful.

Common ink and nice paper, and it was amazing what a simple threat could do. An innocuous little note could make people contort in the most amusing ways.

The little teacher had not seen the extent of the Note Writer's work. She had better stop those classes soon. If not… well, _she would find out soon enough, wouldn't she?_

_Drip, drip._

* * *

Danielle stood in the brilliant white living room, ambient light from the foggy outdoors filtering in and making her surroundings glow. She looked out her window beyond the opaque curtains. A world of greys, light and dark, making the world outside seem asleep.

_Victor Zsasz is back._

The sentence filtered into her head. Millions of images passing in each instant, ethereal, flashing back and forth as she blinked.

_Victor Zsasz is back. He's still here._

He was still in the world somewhere. Maybe even here, in Gotham.

_I didn't kill him._

She sat down very suddenly on her couch. She tried to form a coherent thought. Tried to make herself feel a certain way about it. There was too much there. All she knew was that an enormous world of possibilities had just opened up – some scary, some downright evil, some strangely hopeful – but all surrounding the basic reality that _Victor Zsasz is alive._

She couldn't move. And after a few long moments, she stopped trying to.

* * *

_"Went to school and I was very nervous  
__No one knew me, no one knew me  
Hello teacher, tell me, what's my lesson?  
Look right through me, look right through me…"_

_"And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad  
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had  
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take  
When people run in circles, it's a very very…  
Mad world."_

* * *

_It's all going to begin again. The phone calls, the chases…the sexual assaults… _She shivered. _No, actually, **none** of that's going to happen. He said he's back here to kill me. He's not playing any games this time… _

Hours seemed to pass. She found her fingers softly tracing the enso tattoo on her stomach, the peaks of the mountain tattoo inside the enso… and gradually the scar he had given her when he stabbed her through the left side of her abdomen. This one was raised higher than the others and had faded the least. It could easily be called her "ugliest" scar, even in light of the criss-crosses and constellations that marred her back. She had gotten the one on her abdomen the night she had tried to burn Zsasz alive.

Ugly or not, her scars had become very special to her. They were the equivalent of Zsasz's marks in some way. Proof that she lived.

_I wonder how many more marks he has now?_

She stood up, fingers falling away from her stomach, and shuffled toward the kitchen.

The last time she had seen him, he had 488 marks on his body. That was 488 people that the police had failed to save. How many more had they failed to save now?

"Where on Earth was he these past three years?" she mused aloud as she put the kettle of water on the stove. "Was he somewhere else 'liberating' people? Butchering and snuffing out other people's brightness?"

_Goddamn it, I didn't stop him after all! And now more people are dead because Zsasz is alive! Because of me!_

Anguish rent her guts. "Why the hell did I carry around the guilt for so long? And why am I still carrying it now?"

As much as she wanted him to stop, she inexplicably wanted to apologize to him for killing- no, _almost _killing him. It had never stopped weighing on her. It seemed he hadn't forgotten about it either, not that he would. Was that why he had taken so long to return? Because he hated her? Or because he loved her and had to relearn how to hate?

"Really?" she admonished herself as she put the teabag in the cup and poured the boiling water over it. Steam invaded her nostrils and she coughed, tears leaking out. "A sociopathic serial killer wants me dead, and that's what I'm thinking about? I need to prepare to fight for my life!"

And yet as the tea steeped, all those nights came back, the nights she had spent walking home, strolling with ghosts, shouting in the wind, reliving every moment of that one night. And the many days she spent, standing on the Sprang Bridge, wishing and grieving that it had gone differently. How many times had she felt remorseful for Zsasz's death, even though she shouldn't?

_And now he's alive. He didn't die._

A softly hopeful thought came to her.

"Maybe now that he's alive… it's not too late." A watery smile. "Maybe I can show him the value of life after all. If he doesn't kill me first."

_You mean, if he doesn't kill hundreds of others first. Let the police handle him, and just try to survive for now, and protect you and yours!_

"Oh my God, that's right…" she murmured, dropping her teacup onto the coffee table and picking up the phone. "Cindy?"

She sighed with relief when she heard a yawn on the other end. "Yes, girl? Are we still on for tea on Wednesday?"

"Absolutely. Cindy… there's something important I have to tell you…"

* * *

She awoke the next morning with a stiff neck. Sleeping awkwardly on the couch will do that to you. That and the nightmares.

There was work to do.

Now there were potentially two people after her. _Living here just keeps getting more and more dangerous, _she thought with a grim smile. It was time to put some extra precautions in place.

Zsasz had broken into her home before. She had no idea if he knew where she lived now. She wouldn't try to kill him again – but she sure as hell wouldn't make it easy on him if he tried to pay her a house visit.

The phone usually sat on a small table next to the couch, very close to the phone jack but very far away from the front door. Luckily the phone cord was several meters long. The extra wire usually sat in a neat bundle under the side table. She worked for a half hour, taping the wire to snake around the room, and then finally mounting the phone to the wall directly across from her front door.

_I can call the police immediately if I need to when I get in the door. And I know how Zsasz thinks… I wouldn't put it past him to disconnect my phone lines to make sure our "conversation" is uninterrupted. If I come home and the phone is dead, I know right away that someone's in here._ She promised herself to make a habit of picking up the phone first thing when she got home, just to make sure there was a dial tone. There would still be time and space to escape if it were dead.

Next she hid the knives. _Though he's probably already armed to the teeth._ The oven broiler seemed like a good place for them.

The first aid kit went on the coffee table. _If I have to escape quickly, I'll take that instead of my purse this time. _She also put out a handful of money.

_Broom, mop, practice staff from the dojo, anything with a long handle._ She put those things neatly by the front door. Weapons on hand in case someone was waiting inside the door for her.

She glanced out the window. Her balcony had a fire escape on it. In spite of the necessity of the fire escape, she always worried that someone determined enough could hoist themselves up from ground level onto the lowest balcony and climb up to her floor, breaking in through the large sliding window. Or alternatively take the common elevator to the roof and then descend using the fire escapes. She lived on the seventh floor. Yet she still didn't feel totally safe.

_I should have gotten bars over the glass. Or an accordion gate or something._ She briefly considered moving two tall bookshelves in front of the sliding window to prevent someone from getting in. _But if I do that, then I'll have no way to escape if there's a fire! Am I strong enough to topple a bookshelf in an emergency?_

_Yes I could. But then, an intruder would be just as capable. They could break the glass from the outside, reach in and push over the bookshelves. Damn!_

She decided to move the bookshelves in front of the window anyway.

_If someone's determined enough to get in, then they will. I just have to be ready for that._

Before she left for work, she took a final look under the bed. The object lying there made her smile grimly. If things were desperate, she always had her backup plan.

* * *

The streets seemed crisper today. Or maybe she was hyperaware of every breeze, every sound, every footstep of every person around her.

She didn't run. She didn't panic. It wouldn't do any good. It was not a matter of _if_ Zsasz came for her, but rather _when_. She could spend the rest of her life running from him, or… she could face him. She could answer for what she had done to him…and accept what he had done to her. She could finally stand her ground.

Mace in one pocket, cell phone in the other. If she could hold her own long enough for the police to arrive, then she could get him behind bars. He would never kill another person again as long as they kept him this time. She had a better chance of surviving him than some innocent victim out there, and so it was better if he was fixating on her. _If he thinks I'm the same Danielle Lee I was three years ago, he has another thing coming._

_I will never become your victim again, Victor Zsasz! __Bring it._

When she stepped into the hospital, it hit her that Zsasz had stalked her there before, since her last job had been in the same building. She almost facepalmed at the realization. Her old office was even right down the hall! He'd definitely come there!

_If he steps into my self-defense studio, he'll get a lesson he'll never forget._

She spent most of the day scrubbing the mats. When it came time for class, she found herself pushing her students harder, warning them that the classes might be shutting down soon, determined to toughen them up faster. She put all her energy into their exercises, exhausting herself, and after class she wound up calling a taxi to go home._  
_

_Sorry_ _Zsasz, _she thought as the yellow and black cab pulled away from the curb, orange taillights bouncing off the front doors of the hospital._ If you were there today, you'll have to try again tomorrow._

The same restlessness continued the next day. If her students noticed how distracted she was, they didn't show it. She drank her usual tea with Cindy, carefully watching the cafe to make sure no one was following them. After work, she waited at the bus stop for her usual leisurely ride to the dojo. This time, the wait seemed anything but relaxing.

She glanced as casually as possible to the left. There were a couple of kids playing with a red ball next to the stop. Their mother looked hassled. No one else in sight.

To the right. Some people in heavy jackets walking the other way.

To the front. No one- Wait. _Someone's standing there, under the awning. Is he looking at me?_ She stiffened. The man under the awning didn't move. She could not see his face, but long skeletal fingers peeked out from thick sleeves. His body was angled toward hers. _How long has he been staring over there? _Seconds dribbled by. The stranger didn't move, and her tension grew. Finally, he shifted a little, and a bright red ember suddenly blazed near his mouth. When she squinted harder, she could see the smoke of a cigarette against the dark. She relaxed. _I'm too paranoid. I need to chill out._

The bus came shortly. Danielle took one last look around before she got on. Half the people on the bus were wearing heavy winter hoods, obscuring their faces. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She sat near the front and, at each stop, watched the new people get on the bus, scanning for anyone familiar. No one got on who resembled Zsasz.

Soon the smell of fish and the harbor wafted through the windows. She got off at the fish market and weaved through the stalls, back to Kairi's dojo, not sparing the bus another glance.

* * *

"Don't worry, I know she'll be out here," Zsasz grated. He looked around the desolate area. Large pillars barely showed in front of him as the sky rapidly darkened. An old highway once ran here… He wondered what had happened to it.

_'You are wasting your time! Surely there are worthier victims you can pursue. Why waste your time on one?'_

"For revenge," he spoke evenly. His eyes darted, looking for the brown-haired girl. _Danielle._ He had seen her disappear behind a stall, and now the stall was long gone, dismantled and packed away. Had he missed her somehow?

_'Revenge? Could there be a more pathetic target for revenge? Take vengeance against the society that made you what you are, Victor Zsasz! Slaughter them all. I will help you…'_

"Are you crazy?" He gritted his teeth. "I only just came here and I've found that this woman meant to kill me!" The grip on his knife tightened. "She is just begging to be slaughtered! After I kill her, there will be time to—"

_'You are close to the ship. Return to it. I will show you your true weapons. We will go from port to port, slaughtering everyone in the shipyards, and then you will be ready, and we will return to Gotham.'_

The ship. Now that The Voice mentioned it… he was rather close. The sound of the waves washed softly over his ears. Spectral silhouettes peered through the sea mist and incoming fog. He could go back to the boat—

He winced. _Were the bodies of the sailors still there?_ Suddenly he could picture the blood still staining his fingertips, taste the metallic residue in air tinged with blood. His stomach lurched._  
_

_What? _he panicked._ I thought I was past worrying over their mortalities. Where are these feelings coming from? _His chest hurt, and the world swam before him. He could not get the sailors' screams out of his head...

"No," he said, regathering his strength, speaking more to himself than the wretched voice. "I tracked her here. I was successful. I will not let my prey live."

_'Of course not,'_ The Voice said, almost soothingly. _'You must do what is necessary, of course. Show no mercy, starting with your would-be murderess.'_

The Voice agreed! He seized on its encouragement. The Voice thought he should do this; then it was one more vote of confidence! The knife tightened. He wouldn't let these feelings, these apparitions, get in his way… He was Mr. Zsasz the Killer, after all.

As The Voice spoke in his ear, his eyes swept the harbor. The evening mist was coming in thick waves, obscuring his sight. Time to paint it red.

One by one the streetlamps ignited, and his pulse quickened until it pumped sickeningly fast. His smile was dark, excited.

"What do you want me to do?"

* * *

"Thank you, sensei," Danielle called as she left the dojo. Julien had been sick that day, so she was riding the bus home.

She passed by the koi pond just outside and stopped for a moment, watching the orange and black fish swim lazily. "What will you do when winter sets in?" she wondered. "Will your pond freeze over? Well, you survived last year, so Tanaga-sensei must know… I can't remember." She left through the hidden area behind Tanaga-sensei's fish stall.

There was a thick blanket of fog all around, with a hint of frost in the air. _Great, zero visibility. If I walk the wrong way, I could end up falling in Gotham Bay!_ It was so dense that she could not even see the pilings of the old broken highway.

Streetlights cut through the fog like ghost lanterns, turning the mist around their bulbs golden and ethereal. Her can of mace was in her hand. It would be too easy for someone to leap out of the fog and surprise her.

_Cindy's right,_ she scoffed. _I really am too much the self-defense teacher… But it's this carefulness that keeps me safe._ Her sneakers barely whispered on the concrete.

Two blocks to the bus stop. The outbound bus stop was farther away than the inbound one. Normally not something she had to worry about. But with Zsasz on the loose…

_Doubt he followed me all the way out here. I was careful. Still… can't be too careful._

No sign of the bus stop. She frowned. _This isn't right. Do I need to retrace my footsteps?_ She shut her eyes, growing quiet inside, trying to get her bearings—

"Oh Danielle…"

Her eyes snapped open.

_Oh no._

FWWP!

She turned, and it seemed like everything moved too slowly. She saw the flash of silver cleaving the fog, felt a slight wind as she moved, and something whooshed through her hair, barely grazing her nose. The metal clanged, hitting the concrete pillar behind her and falling harmlessly to the ground.

It had missed her face by half an inch.

She pivoted. No one there… but a soft ominous chuckle.

_He's using the fog as a cover._

Stealthily she took out her cell phone and readied herself into an alert stance.

FWWP! Another knife out of the fog! Danielle dodged and the knife landed several yards behind her. _He's good._ Her fingers swiftly dialed 911.

_He might be getting ready to throw another knife. I need to stall him._

"It's been a long time, Zsasz!" she called out, crouching low and peering into the swirling mist.

"Please state your emergency—" her phone squawked.

"Gotham City, Harbor Market Square, please hurry," she whispered, slipping the phone into her purse. Quietly, she set the purse down, cell phone inside and on. _Hopefully the police can find us. No time to talk to them now._

"You are no longer in denial who I am? Now that you're faced with my knife!" His voice. There was no mistaking that voice. Her heart skipped a beat.

"No, Zsasz, I'm not in denial anymore."

She heard a soft giggle and turned her head subtly, trying to pinpoint the sound. Boots crunched on the gravelly pavement, then stopped.

"How did you find me here? I thought I was careful this time."

A long silence…

FWWP! She dodged again and heard his laughter, louder this time.

"You were careful, little zombie. Just not careful enough. You should have paid more attention to who was _already_ on the bus!"

_Lesson learned, if I get out of here alive._

"I was surprised to hear you were back. I thought… I thought you would have come back much sooner."

No answer.

"I heard about the five men you killed." _He's got more knives, and he's in a throwing mood. I can dodge him for a while, but getting in close is going to be a challenge. He was smart to choose this environment._ "So you really are back, huh? Same old Zsasz I remember."

"And how much do you remember?" his voice came out a hiss.

"I remember enough." She thought of the memorial stone on Arkham Island dedicated to his victims, how she had wept over the names. "I remember all the people you killed!" Groping blindly, she felt the cold steel handle of one of his thrown knives…

"And I will kill more, starting with you! I will not stop until the blood of humanity runs beneath my boots!"

She flung the knife in the direction of his voice. She heard a startled yelp and a scramble over moist pavement. A beat of silence. And then his eerie laugh, high and deranged, as if she had merely amused him rather than threatened him.

_There was something wrong with the phrase he just used. It was…unlike him._

"How many more people have you murdered these last three years? Wherever you were?"

"Three years?" he sighed, breathlessly. "Has it really been so long since we've seen each other?"

"I never stopped keeping count."

Silence. Only the whistling of the fog as the wind picked up, leaving salty droplets on her face.

"We could play hide-and-seek all night, Zsasz… Or you could show yourself."

"As you wish." _Behind her._ She turned, anticipating another knife, and the mist swirled dramatically, revealing him.

He was standing in the shadow near one of the highway pillars, staring at her. She could barely make out his face; sunken cheeks, crazy wide eyes, dark rings under them, a smile lined with teeth – he looked so much like the zombie in her dreams. But this was no dream. This was real.

"Hello, little Danielle… Do you remember me now, in the flesh?"

He was the same as she remembered. Exactly the same. _No, wait, there's something wrong…_ _But I can't put my finger on it…_

"How could I ever forget you, Zsasz?" she asked quietly. Her insides raced.

He smirked. The familiarity behind it made her lightheaded.

"How did you survive?" she breathed.

Here she was, finally. The girl who had plagued his thoughts for the past three days. She was prettier than he remembered — well, he _didn't _remember, but that was beside the point. Her cheeks flushed in the cold, with mist gathering in her hair…even the thin scars on her face were strangely beautiful. His mind flashed on the warrior's look that had emerged when he threw the first knife at her, and he wondered where her baseball bat had gone.

He wished he had all of the memories they must share, so that breaking her would be even sweeter – oh yes, he wanted her to suffer before he killed her.

"Perhaps you can tell me, zombie, why it was you wanted me to die? Why you threw me over a bridge and left me to drown?"

"So… You're back here for revenge. Is that it?" _That's it, keep him talking, get him to lower his guard and keep inching closer… C'mon, police, where are you?_

"I have got a knife in my hand, little zombie, calling out for your blood. Look how shiny! Do you want to see it soaked in red?" He smiled maliciously, and his voice took on a deceptively soft tone. "Now. I already know what you're going to do. I'm a cold-blooded murderer, aren't I? And you are going to _beg me_ for your life. Make it good. I might let you live a few pathetic seconds longer for my own amusement…" His eyes widened in anticipation.

_He looks like death itself. What happened to him? How did he survive?_

"You look sad," his menacing voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Are you so sad that I didn't die? That all your planning was for nothing?"

"Planning? You think I planned to be rescued at the last minute, while you oh-so-conveniently fell to your death? That takes a talent I don't possess, Zsasz."

"Speaking of talent, how exactly did you seduce me?" he licked his lips slowly and leered at her with hungry blue eyes. "How did you manage to make me lower my guard, enough to get in close and kill me?" His wrist snapped forward and a knife hurtled straight at her, landing in the ground at her feet. She stopped advancing.

"'Seduce'…" she said slowly, bitterly. "That's a funny word for it."

The fights, the sexual assaults, the pleading, the conversations, the fear and pain and disgust from her ordeal three years ago passed fleetingly through her mind – yet she held her ground.

"You drove me to be suicidal… You _knew_ I was suicidal!" she kicked the knife in front of her angrily. "I didn't set out to be a murderer that night!"

"You lie. Payback is a horrible mistress, little zombie!"

"You know what?" She shook her head. "For just a second, I was relieved to hear you were still alive. I was afraid…that I _had_ killed you, and I didn't want to. I wished that…that all of it had gone a different way. I would have helped you. But now you're back here, killing again? I wish you had stayed dead!" A look of regret flashed across her face.

_A flash of something… A flash of green— pain— Screaming— _

"Did you feel happy when I died?" he snarled. "Did you dance on my grave?"

"No. I felt sorry for you."

"Oho! Spare me your pathetic pity! It won't save you. Now I think it is time you begged me for your life."

"Zsasz…"

"Well? You do seem upset!" he chuckled. "Please, continue. This should be interesting."

She stared at her toes. What could she possibly say? Everything he said, everything he accused her of… was right.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Zsasz stopped grinning and leaned forward in spite of himself.

"I wish so much it hadn't happened that way." Her words burst out, not to distract him anymore, but because she could no longer hold them back. "I have thought of you every day for the past three _years_, Zsasz. You've never gone away, no matter how much I wanted you to! And I wanted to tell you-"

She looked up. He was staring at her, listening.

"I'm so sorry I tried to kill you, Zsasz. I thought we were going out together. You were surrounded and… I was giving us both salvation. After everything you taught me, it made sense. And I thought you wanted it too. But then…" She drew in a shaky breath. "I-I was such a coward and I didn't want to die alone. And then you died alone instead. And I'm so, so sorry for that!"

His head was lowered. For a moment, she wondered if her apology had gotten through to him.

_Clap! Clap! Clap!_

She heard slow, mocking applause, and his dark laughter rang out. Her heart sank, but what else could she have expected?

"I am impressed. Such a moving tribute!" he exclaimed. "You did better than I expected, little murderess. I'll make your death quick!"

She readied herself to dash forward, to avoid his knives and to fight-

Zsasz stepped out from the shadows.

Mist drifted in the air around him, creating an ethereal halo and making his skin gleam. He looked even more like a ghost in the dim ochre light. A gleeful grin adorned his face and if it weren't for the knives in his hands, raised and ready, his smile would have appeared almost warm. Such familiarity that it left an ache… In spite of herself, the memory burst forth of hugging him, of trailing her fingers along his chest-

Whatever words she would have spoken died in her throat.

"Do you like my knives?"

He took another step forward, relishing her startled reaction—when suddenly, her expression morphed into horror, her eyes rising slowly from his chest to pierce his face. _She isn't looking at my knives,_ he realized. His stomach dropped. _What is she staring at?_

"What are you—"

_"_Zsasz–" she whispered, cutting him off. "What happened to your marks?"

**-/-/-/-/-**


	7. Chapter 6: Angels and Demons

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman. _Bob Kane, Bill Finger, Alan Grant, Norm Breyfogle, Jeff Loeb, Tim Sale, Alan Moore, Paul Dini, Bruce Timm,_ and _all the other fine writers_ of the Batmanverse - I bow to you! :D

**A/N: **4SeasonsChick, Batfangirl773, Trudes193, thank you all so much for the reviews, and thank you Akuma Takeshi Jagerjack for Following/Faving. You guys are the best. :)

This was a challenging chapter to write. If something doesn't make sense or you see any glaring plot holes, please let me know.

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection**

**-CHAPTER SIX: ANGELS AND DEMONS-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

"Zsasz- what happened to your marks?"

The words were there, but they weren't sinking in. The horror remained on the woman's face. Zsasz chanced a glance at his own body.

A slow wail began in his head, the knives slipping from his grasp, though he never heard them fall. That strange feeling he had, that all this time there was something wrong—

He looked down at his skin, cautiously raising an arm.

The feeling you get when the whole world stands still – that was the horrible feeling Zsasz felt all of the sudden. Like the butterflies in his stomach had sped up, only to abruptly die. He felt cold.

As his eyes slowly traced every inch of his own skin and Danielle's words reverberated in his head, a million memories suddenly snapped into place:

_"-I need a new mark!" _

_"I need to make the kill! __I can't- waaait!_" 

_"He marks his skin with a tally for each victim…" _

_"-Saw him in the Botanic Gardens, no doubt acting out some twisted fantasy-" _

_"EVIL, EVIL, EVIL MONSTER!" _

_"I have marked my skin with your life! My body is a temple dedicated to your memory!"_

_"I have a special spot saved for you. Do you want to see where?"_

_"Zsasz is a maniac. He cut my buddy Ash in places I don't even like to think about…" _

_"-Unrepentant homicidal lunatic, known for tallying his body with scars or 'marks' to represent each kill he makes… Stay away from him when possible, bring backup when you can't-" _

_"OH GOD! OH GOD HE'S GOT BILL! CALL FOR BACKUP!" _

_"Do you like my marks?"_  
_"How many marks do you have, Zsasz?"_  
_"I have 487 marks on my body, Danielle. And soon your collection will rival mine. Let me see them now!" _

"I need to make the mark. It's all I have left…"

-/-/-/-/-

Shaking, he raised a hand to his forehead. _Nothing._

"WHERE ARE MY MARKS?!"

They were gone! All of his marks were gone!

Zsasz doubled over, shivering and shuddering.

Every inch of his skin felt _wrong_. All the victims… everyone he had ever killed… his temple… his life's work… Everything he had built! Everything that mattered to him! All GONE!

He screamed, a chilling feral noise, fingers clawing desperately at his own skin, nails digging into the flesh of his forehead and drawing blood. "What have you done?" he growled, body pitching. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" He swiped the air madly, knife materializing faster than Danielle could see. She took a fearful step back, and Zsasz turned, facing away from her.

"Quit laughing at me! Mocking me in my own head, oh, you will pay for this!" he groaned. "I will find you! I will slice you up until your blood covers my skin from the holes I cut into your body! You-" he took a deep breath before screaming once more: "YOU STOLE MY MARKS!"

Danielle's head spun. _He isn't talking to me._ A chill went up her spine. _Zsasz…is hearing voices? This isn't normal — even for him. Something is seriously wrong. _The compassion - that _wretched_ compassion - was returning. He didn't deserve it, and yet-

She watched with horror and pity as Zsasz continued to shout, clawing at air and skin with his hands.

"Who did this to you?"

Zsasz looked up, and Danielle involuntarily took another step back. A lone drop of blood fell lazily from his forehead from the scratching he had done. His mouth was slack and he looked so…lost… _So much like one of her students._

"Someone did something to you," she spoke with as much courage as she could. "Your marks, whatever voices you're hearing… Something happened to you, didn't it, Zsasz? I've never seen you like this before…"

Zsasz stared blankly at her, his hands moving restlessly over his arms and chest. She tried to calm the agitated man.

"We can figure it out, Zsasz…_Victor._ Just tell me what you remember-"

Abruptly he ran. At first she flinched, thinking he was charging her, expecting to feel cold steel piercing her flesh.

But he ran past her, not touching or looking at her, disappearing into the fog like a ghost. She heard him gasping, almost retching.

_He's out of control. Something bad's going to happen if he goes away._

"Zsasz! Victor! _Victor!_" she called after him. He kept running, too quickly for her.

_If I don't move now, I'll lose him! I can't lose him!_ She snatched up her purse. Her phone clattered to the pavement, but she couldn't stop now, not as she pivoted to follow the man—

WROOoo! WROOoo! WROOoo!

That noise! Where had it come from? Abruptly red and blue lights burst out of the fog.

_The police… Damn it!_ She turned and noticed with frustration that Zsasz was long gone.

"Miss?" the flashlight was too bright on her face.

"Yes, officer?"

"Did you call for police, miss?"

"Yes, officer. I— was attacked. By Victor Zsasz."

The officer exchanged a startled glance with his partner. Suddenly both men looked about to wet themselves.

"A-are you injured? Um, where- where did he go?"

She pointed. "He went that way… But officer…" She remembered the fear in his face, the total terror, and looked sadly down at the pavement. "I don't think he's a threat at the moment."

* * *

_Running… crying in the streets… running to salvation that did not exist… where could he go? He was…lost again… Lost in the fog…!_

_The cold bit, and yet he did not feel it. He was again a blank slate._

_Purposeless._

* * *

A long shadow peered out from behind the grandfather clock. The time read 10:47pm. The air was crisp and foreboding, even indoors. Pale light filtered in from outside; it seemed all of Gotham was concealed within a fog soup, especially here, so close to the seacliffs.

The clock shut with a soft click, and the shadow slipped deeper into the house.

Grand portraits, shimmering gold trophies and trinkets, the faint smell of cloves and roasting turkey – this house could have everything a man would want to steal, but no, it wasn't money or possessions or even food that the mysterious shadowed man wanted… Well, that turkey did smell good, come to think of it…

It grew darker as he moved stealthily down the hallway and further into the house. A floorboard creaked. The shadow paused.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

The ticking of the grandfather clock, loud in the dead silence.

_Good._ The man let out a slow sigh of relief. No one was awake. No one would see him come—

"Darling, is that you?"

The man in the shadows stopped, but before he could conceal himself, the light snapped on and an irritated Selina Wayne stood in the doorway, yawning and scowling. "What are you doing sneaking around in the dark?" she asked as she pulled the man into the light.

Bruce Wayne, her husband, smiled sheepishly.

Catwoman stopped yawning and then gave him an impish grin. Batman felt a blush rising to his cheeks. It seemed that the lady of the house was suddenly in a better mood.

A plate materialized in front of him, laden with sliced turkey. "Eat something! Geez, Bruce, you've been out half the night! You weren't here for dinner and look at you!" Perplexed, Batman looked down at himself and then raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Obviously not what I meant…hottie!" Catwoman swatted him playfully, before running her hands over his butt. She leaned close and Batman could smell vanilla and patchouli. He took her in – really took her in – and admired the curves her dark black lingerie brought out. His wife was glamorous, that much was clear – and she had not stolen a single diamond or jewel since he had proposed to her two and a half years ago. She hadn't had to. Though she would have done it anyway for the thrill, she found that being married to Batman, life had afforded her…other thrills.

Catwoman in turn studied Batman. Even unmasked, he carried himself with the same vigilante's poise. He identified more with being Batman than with being Bruce Wayne. She understood – she was the same way. Cupping his cheeks, she couldn't help but notice the fine lines forming around his face. At 42 years young, Batman was aging. He looked so…weary. She tilted her head. He had never been the same, not since the Joker's death.

Even when his body was home, his heart was always out on those streets.

She wished she could join him.

"Where is Helena?" her husband asked, his voice raspy and weary, the first words he had spoken since returning home a half hour ago and un-suiting in the Batcave.

"Asleep," Catwoman purred. "She took forever to finally go down. Kept asking about 'Daddy'." Her eyes twinkled. "I think you might be her hero."

"Oh?" His eyes softened at the thought of their one-year-old feisty princess. To be honest, he thought she took more after her mother. He pulled Selina close, inhaling her lips with a deep passion, loving her for giving him their daughter, their little family. He heard Selina sigh breathily.

He pulled back gently. "Can I see her?"

Arm and arm, they went down the hallway and into the baby's room. A nightlight cast a slight shadow over the cradle in the center of the room.

An angel lay sleeping among soft blue blankets, one tiny thumb curled against her face, body spread and relaxed. A black cat lay curled up around her tiny feet, fur prickling as she sensed their arrival. Helena's eyelids fluttered gently as Bruce planted a kiss on his daughter's cheek, long black eyelashes rustling. She had her mother's face - though when she was awake, she had her father's crystalline blue eyes.

He looked up to find Catwoman staring at them, her eyes glowing at the display of affection. Together they drew out of the room, closing the door. Selina was still smiling at him in the darkness, and he took a piece of the turkey from the plate she still held. "Not bad! Did Alfred try a new recipe?"

"He's been experimenting with certain spices. He couldn't wait for Christmas to try the cloves… And Thanksgiving was so good that we were still craving turkey..."

"It's perfect! With a hint of mead…"

"Well, the mead was my idea. We were almost out of white wine."

"Odd…"

"We used some of it earlier today. There was a celebration in the office. The merger worked out—"

"You mean you did it?" He could scarcely believe it. "You secured the renewable energy deal with Tate Enterprises?"

"Don't look so shocked! It was like stealing jewelry from a Vreeland!" Catwoman smirked. "The old man put up a fight at first… he was worried about a repeat of his experiences with LexCorp… but I got him in the end."

"How'd you do it?" he grinned. "Your famous charm?"

She shrugged casually. "I told him about WayneFuel's competitive stance against LexEnergy, and also about the Wayne Foundation's many charitable donations to the Avery Mountain Lion Sanctuary. He just about tripped over his expensive shoes to sign the forms!"

"You won him over mentioning the mountain lion preserve?"

"I noticed his name at a wildlife charity event a few weeks back."

Batman shook his head. "Who would have thought? Former oil baron Hiram Tate, renewable energy and wildlife supporter!"

Selina smiled. "And how about you, Mr. Big Detective?" she stepped close to him again, and he involuntarily caught his breath. She trailed a manicured finger down his chest. "How was your night?"

His expression became grim. "I had a word with Benito Sobalvarro. He sang like a canary once we spent some quality time together. Seems like the Falcones are starting trouble again in the shipyards."

Catwoman stiffened. "Oh really? Is it the old man or Alberto's operation this time?"

"It's looking like the Roman. I haven't heard any word about Alberto, ever since the altercation he got into with the Calendar Man… He's become a ghost."

She rolled her shoulders slowly. "Want me to do some sleuthing?"

"For now I've got this, but I might need your help at some point."

"Well, you just let me know, I would love to sink my claws into that old bas—"

"Selina…" he said softly.

"What?" she tilted her head. "The baby's asleep, I can swear—"

"You know that isn't what I meant."

She sighed. "You know I'm going to have to get involved at some point, right? Me and the old man have unfinished business."

"I get it," he hated seeing her unhappy, even if she was hiding it. "You know I do. You're a strong woman, a strong person—"

"I'm your ally, Batman. And your wife."

"You don't have to impress me. I'm already here for keeps," he smiled. "If you want me to handle your father—"

She shook her head. "Not a chance. Like I said, he and I have unfinished business. Hell, it might even be cathartic…"

He put his hands gently on her shoulders. "I know… and it's your call. The way that Catwoman has been there for Batman so many times… this time, _I'll_ be right beside _you_."

She looked up into his earnest eyes, the eyes of the man she loved, and sighed deeply. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just, after that business with the Holiday killings… and what I found out about him…" She chuckled. "Bet this wasn't what you pictured when you thought of having in-laws, was it?"

"I don't know…" Bruce mused. "I dated a girl once whose father wanted to wipe out most of humanity—"

"Ah yes, the Terrorist," Selina said dryly. Bruce's eyes narrowed ever so subtly. It wasn't because of Rā's, she knew, but rather because of Talia.

Sometimes she wondered… _But no, she must not think that way._ He had chosen her. He could have decided to mourn Talia for the rest of his life, and maybe some part of him always would mourn, would always look back to the night in the Monarch Theatre when the Joker gunned her down, just a second faster than Batman could react. She knew that Talia's death, like so many others', lay heavy on his undeserving conscience. And even though he should never have to bear all that guilt, as she herself had told him many nights... _she would not expect anything different of him._ His love for Talia, for so many other girls, for the Batfamily, for Alfred, for her and Helena, heck even for the Rogues' Gallery in their own weird way… his big heart and compassion was one of the reasons why she loved him so much. He wouldn't be _him_ without it.

Yes. Her husband would always love Talia. But he had chosen her, _Selina,_ and not for the first time. She and Bruce had their own rich history together, even before Talia — she was _no one's _replacement. So long as he never chose Talia's memory, or any of his other girls, over her or their little family, she could live with it.

"Well, 'the Terrorist' hasn't been heard from in four years," Bruce murmured. "I'd say I'm sorry he's dead, but he has a habit of being woken up by his zealots."

"Hopefully if he's out there somewhere, he'll decide to do something more peaceful with his time," she said cheerfully. "Like cultivate bonsai trees."

Bruce chuckled. Selina's heart swelled.

"Come here, darling. Speaking of in-laws… there's something I have to show you." She led him upstairs, to a wing that was slightly dustier than the others. When he saw where they were heading, his jaw tightened subtly, apprehensively. He glanced over into his wife's soft, emerald eyes. There was no malice in her gaze, only understanding. Trusting her, he allowed her to lead him up to the doors of the Wayne Manor Master Bedroom; only then did she let go of his arm.

The Master Bedroom had not been touched in years. Alfred went in there occasionally to dust the photos and make sure the moths stayed away… but Bruce Wayne had never expressed an interest in taking over the old room – the room of his parents.

His mother's dresses still hung in the closets, alongside his father's suits, greying as the years passed. A grand portrait overlooked the room. Bruce knew every detail from memory. He had spent hours in there as a child, weeping quietly on his parents' bed, wishing so much he would open his eyes and it would all have been a dream, and his parents would by lying on either side of him, asleep and safe. But he had never woken up from this horrible dream. It was the same each time.

After a long time, Alfred had learned not to bother him when he was in their room, reliving the memories, grasping out for even a small piece of his mother and father. But when he came out, Alfred was always ready, with some food, maybe a story, and more often than not a photo album or some anecdote about his parents, especially his father, and little Bruce's tears would momentarily dry. _Momentarily…_ Perhaps that was the reason why he had donned the cape and cowl… the memories could never be erased, and they had never really lessened.

His heart was pounding as he grasped the doorknobs and opened the big doors of the bedroom. It took a moment for his eyes to gather in what he was seeing.

A lone candle sat on one of the side tables, flickering, filling the room with the smell of cinnamon. The furniture had been dusted recently, and the picture of his parents looked as mournfully beautiful as ever.

The room was filled with vases of poinsettias.

Bruce's breath caught in his throat again. Beautiful red poinsettias adorned the room, like delicate paper decorations. The biggest bouquets were right next to his parents' pictures, and the deep red added warmth to the portrait, making his parents' faces seem more alive. The flowers were spread all over the mantle, on the small tables and dressers around the room. Hanging over the main mirror was a shining golden star, glittering in the dim light. He blinked for a second, before turning to his wife and affixing her with a serious look.

Selina gulped. Had she angered him? She knew this room was special to him – had she overstepped by coming in here? Had she violated his sanctuary? She had only meant to decorate the room for the Christmas holidays, share the festivities and honor the parents-in-law she would never meet. The silence stretched on as Batman stared at her, and his unwavering gaze made her shiver a little. Or what if he wasn't angry at all – what if he was in _agony,_ remembering, having horrible flashbacks? Oh, she should never have meddled—

Bruce grabbed her to him, crushing his chest against hers. She could feel his heart thundering.

"Thank you, Selina…" he whispered.

* * *

Blue eyes opened hazily. Awareness was slow to come, and for a moment, the world remained dark. The smell of faintly burnt wood reached his nostrils. Wherever he was, the air was cold.

He sat up, groaning. Pieces of wood bit into his back, staining his skin with charcoal and rust. He was lying on a ridge, he realized, a wooden platform long ruined, in a burnt-out shell of a room. The roof had a large hole in it. Fleetingly, he remembered waking up in a similar place, full of fire. Had he survived a fire last night? _No…it was a while ago._

He looked down at his skin, but quickly shut his eyes, tears stinging closed lids.

When he opened them again, he was staring into a mirror, and the rings around his eyes were darker than he imagined. How long had it been since he had looked in a mirror? He could only remember seeing his shadowy reflection in the window of the convenience store – on that horrible day when he realized something was wrong, but didn't know _what._

Now, he realized with a sickening lump in his stomach, he wished he had never known. _Ignorance is bliss._

The reflection pouted back at him, soot and dirt streaking his skin, a filthy degenerate lost manchild… without his scars. His skin was dirty, yes, but still naked. Still …markless. Unremarkable.

He cracked a brief smile and winced at how much worse he looked. The sad-eyed reflection… he looked like he needed to cry—

Harshly Zsasz whipped away his head. He. Would. Not. Cry.

_'Pathetic.'_

"Go away," Zsasz murmured.

The wood creaked but did not break as he slid down from the platform. There were the steel doors to the hideout. Holes in the walls, with cars crashed and smashed and broken, the charred sign "Ghost Train" painted on one of the sides… "Are you a ghost?" he whispered. "Are you… _my_ ghost? Sent here to haunt me?"

The Voice did not answer.

Each footstep was like lead, going further into the building. Perhaps a lifetime ago, a man had owned this building, and here he had smelted and forged his dreams. An empire. Until he fell. Zsasz wondered what had happened to ruin him, to leave this golden testament behind, slowly turning to rust. There had been drugs here once, he saw in one of the rooms. So much more… But that was _before_. He cared to know this before, a day ago when he discovered this place. He had been so eager, uncovering the past, like an explorer…

Now, he was consumed with his own loss.

_My marks… I have nothing now. No dreams, no past …no future? Nothing to live for._

_'So melodramatic…' _

The Voice sounded cross. Zsasz felt his teeth clench. _Why? What on Earth does it have to be angry about?_

_'You know that this will set back our plans…' _he could hear it slithering in again, like a snake from the pits of hell. The sense of coldness, of aloneness, deepened in its vile presence …and there was nothing Zsasz could do, but listen to its sinister words. _'So unfortunate. So many people you could be harvesting, and yet you sit here a broken mewling shell of a once-great and ferocious warrior.'_

"What have you done?" His own voice was quiet. It wouldn't do any good to shout. It wouldn't undo what had happened. There was just one question. "You stole my marks… _why?_"

_'It was necessary. In order to become the perfect killer, you needed to lose all ties to this world. Only when you have nothing left to lose, are you truly free.'_

"Free? You stole my marks, you stole my identity! Who are you to do this?"

_'I am your master.'_

"You are the devil!"

_'It was necessary to reset your body, to do away with your…'marks',' _The Voice sneered. _'You needed to make room for more people. Now…'_ It chuckled. _'Now__ you may refill your body. Or better yet - do away with the compulsion altogether! It will take too long to liberate the world if you must count each and every person you slaughter. Start a new tradition...friend.'_

"What sorcery did you use to steal my marks?!"

Zsasz stood at the top of the stairs, watching as they wound down, further and further into darkness. It was very high up, a full story to the next landing, and two more stories beneath. He took the first step, and his stomach lurched.

_'Imagine… your blade thick with blood, humanity broken and yoked, lying in the dust at your feet. The path to a new world, paved by you, Killer...'_

_Why are there so many stairs?_ The dizziness in his head was getting worse. _Wouldn't it be much easier if I simply leaped down to the bottom, instead of walking each and every wretched step?_

The Voice laughed maliciously.

"They were meant to be remembered," Zsasz sobbed. "Each one of them… I was meant to remember every kill. I **saved** them!" He looked down at his skin frantically. "And now they're gone…"

He stumbled on the next step.

_'Each of them was meant to be forgotten. Humanity is meant to be forgotten!'_

He could hear the roaring of the furnaces across the way, feel the heat wafting through the walls.

_Finally. At the bottom._ The dizziness was killing him now. He barely made it to a crate and slumped down, gasping, trying to make the pain in his stomach recede.

For hours the Voice broke him. He listened… He had no choice. There was no way to make the dreaded intruder go away as it violated his mind. It berated him. Taunted him. Forced him to look down at his body, to see what he had become, what it had taken from him. It gave him a headache with its incessant chattering.

It told the deep dark truth.

He was nothing. Nothing without his marks. Just a tool. His purpose in life lay with the knife.

He tried to sleep. He couldn't. The Voice kept talking.

He tried to stand. The pain in his head and stomach worsened. He lay flat on the ground.

_What is happening to me?_

* * *

Hours, possibly days later, he made it to the phone on the other side of the room. Heart pounding, he dialed her number.

_BRRIIIING! BRRRIIING!- _"Hello?"

He wanted to whisper her name, to seek solace in her, _to kill her._

"Why were you not fast enough, zombie girl?" he slurred, barely able to talk above the pain. "Hunh? If you were sorry as you claimed-"

"Zsasz?" she sounded concerned. "Where are you?"

"You shoved me over a railing, left me to die, let the angry ghosts mutilate me- and then you just- watched… Ahh... You could not figure out what was happening to me in time!"

"Then tell me! What's happening to you? Zsasz!"

"If it weren't for you, I would be walking around happy, slaughtering people, saving people… You. You cost me everything. Danielle… I hate you, Danielle…"

"That's understandable, but listen-!"

"When I feel better, I will find you and bathe in your blood!"

He heard her take a deep breath on the other end of the phone.

"I can tell that whatever you're going through, it isn't normal. I know you're hearing voices, and you must be scared-"

He scoffed.

"You don't have to do this alone, Zsasz! Maybe- Zsasz?"

"I…am listening…"

"I've been thinking about this, ever since… you know, ever since I saw you again. I don't know how or why you lost your marks-" He cringed "Maybe this is divine intervention."

"You think-"

"I know this sounds crazy! You don't even remember how it happened… But maybe you've been given another chance." He nearly gagged at the sickening enthusiasm in her voice. "Your marks are erased… Maybe this means you've been unburdened from your higher purpose, and you can live a normal life again. You- you don't have to choose to do this anymore. You don't have to define yourself by your victims anymore, you can seek out your own meaning! I can help you-"

"Help me? You think- you could help me?"

"I- I want to…" He heard so much foolish yearning in her words. But it was far too late.

"You don't understand," he growled, and then more softly, knowing that his last hope had been extinguished, "You will never understand." He hung up.

_Was she crying?_ he wondered. _Sitting dejectedly by her phone, listening into a blank receiver? _He hoped that moment would haunt her for the rest of her life… however short it would be.

* * *

_I should have worded it better, somehow. Maybe I could have gotten to him._

Hours later, she puttered around her apartment. It was storming outside. The bookshelves were still in front of the window. She regretted it a little; storms were beautiful to watch. Maybe she could open the bathroom window, stick her hand outside, and catch some rain in her fingertips.

"Maybe all his kills finally got to him…" she watched the raindrops trickle down the bathroom window, one by one, collecting and sliding in a rush together. "Could those be the voices he thinks he's hearing - all the people he ever killed?" She bit her lip, looking at the floor. "God…"

Zsasz defined himself by his marks… in a weird way, by his _victims_. She had always thought that they were a way of proving he had power over the people he had killed. Now that his marks were erased, maybe his power over his victims was finally broken. Maybe now they could all rest in peace.

_Maybe now her conscience could rest._

_Goddamn compassion._ How could she ever be free of it, of him? All she had wished for these past three years was that somehow her tormentor could rest in peace, that maybe someday she could accept and overcome the guilt she felt, somehow comfort herself with the thought he would take no more victims. Now he was back… alive. Stripped of his "power", though not his murderous capabilities. Now she had the chance to lay down her guilt, and - what? _She was worried about him now. Oh God._ Her mouth fell open softly.

He must be truly sick to have become what he was… she knew he was. And getting sicker it seemed.

She was relieved when her phone rang, desperately needing a distraction. She knew, somehow, that it wasn't Zsasz. It wouldn't be. He wasn't in a good place right then, and she could tell - that phone call must have taken a lot out of him. Maybe it was her brother…? They had been discussing him moving to Gotham City sometime in the next year. Of course, that was before she found out that Zsasz was still alive-

"Good evening?"

"Hello, Miss Danielle Lee?"

"Speaking."

"This is Commissioner Gordon. Good to hear your voice again. I've got some good news."

"What is it?"

"The person who was sending you notes…"

Danielle started. She had completely forgotten about the notes. "…Yes?" she asked cautiously.

"We got him!"

* * *

Within a few minutes of hanging up the phone, he regretted it. For hours and hours, until the very next day, he regretted not staying on the phone with the zombie girl, the smallest dimmest hope he had of staying connected to sanity. He wanted to call her again. But no… he had smothered that hope by his own choice.

And oh, it was lonely. So lonely with only The Voice there for company. Alone, with only a predator, one he knew without reservation wanted nothing more than his agony, his tears, his pain. One who savored it.

It mocked him again. It reveled in his loneliness. It told him that it could help, if he would only do exactly as it said.

What was he to do? How was he to escape?

Slowly he realized that the only way to escape The Voice was to play along.

The Voice whispered instructions for him. _Yes, I will follow. _He picked up the knife.

Against the cold, grey, but thankfully dry sky, air fresh and clean from the storm the night before, he left the hideout. He walked speedily through the ghost streets, past thugs with no leader to own them. He wished so much that he could give one of them, any of them, the cursed voice in his head.

He strode up to the grand bridge. The water below was cold and unforgiving. He couldn't help but wonder how long the fall would take if a man were to plunge over the side. Morbid thoughts, but it was hard to keep them out. It was hard to think at all anymore.

He walked upon the bridge, plan in mind, toward his brightly glowing destiny...

**-/-/-/-/-**


	8. Chapter 7: Already Dead

**A/N**: Thank you 4SeasonsChick for the review! :) So true… Zsasz really should have listened. :(

Happy Eclipse Night, everyone! :D

-0-

**Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection**

**-CHAPTER SEVEN: ALREADY DEAD-**

**-/-/-/-/-**

The grey sky shimmered in the water's reflection. Zsasz peered over the railing. The air was cold and slightly moist, and the wind licked his freshly shaven head appreciatively.

He squinted, angry blue eyes piercing the frigid air, gulping it down as though to stave off the inevitable vertigo. And yet the height afforded him an awful sort of clarity, the kind a man might gain just when he is most desperate and at the end of his rope. The clarity usually given to those right before they venture forth, slipping silently into the great beyond without leaving a trace…

Zsasz looked down at the cold water below.

_A fall from this height would kill a man._ He knew this well.

It would be so _easy_. So easy to jump…

_No._

He wanted to. His despairing soul cried out for relief. An end to his suffering… For _oblivion_.

No.

Relief was a feeling…and he had to be _alive_ in order to feel it.

He was hyper aware of the fluids the rushed through his own organs, gurgling and bubbling, warm in contrast to the coldness outside. He shivered. His body was too eager to cling to its heat, to its mortality. It recoiled at the sight of Gotham Bay far below, betraying his stronger desires to cling to life.

The water sparkled below off the pale sunlight peeking through the grey fog. Dizzying heights… But_ not _today.

There was something poking him in the leg. Yes. _There was another way._

His hand found the knife hidden in the jacket pocket.

His heart thudded. The Voice hummed approvingly.

With a jolt, he kept walking.

* * *

Two men walked in shadow through the GCPD holding cells.

"We caught him by using the security footage in the bottom floor of the hospital. We couldn't make a connection to the first note, but he's the best suspect we've got. We identified him as—"

"Carlito Sobalvarro," Batman finished as he stopped in front of the cell. The balding man looked up. Hard to believe he was Bangin' Benny's _younger_ brother; his face was more wrinkled, but he still had Benito's fierce brown eyes. Standard jail garb replaced the nice grey pinstripe suit he had been wearing on the security footage in the hospital.

"He confessed to leaving the note," Gordon stated. "Though he's being very vague on details. You can question him—"

"You know why I'm here," Batman stepped close to the bars of the cell. "But do you really know why you're here, Sobalvarro, rotting in the same stinking cell block your own brother was in three days ago?"

"You caught me on security footage, fair an' square," Carlito said smoothly, giving Batman a poker face – impressive, considering the Dark Knight's intimidating stance. "What can I say, leavin' notes, I'm a regular Giacomo Casanova!"

"You do know that if you're convicted of criminal threat, you'll face a minimum of two years in Blackgate, considering they're more likely to charge the crime as a felony. You really wanna do the time for a crime you might not have committed?" Batman gave an exaggerated sigh. "Poetry really isn't your style, Carlito, so who are you working for?"

Carlito smiled, revealing gold teeth. "What's a matter, Bats? Can't believe that beneath my meager exterior, I could be a great poet?"

"Really? Can you recite the note?"

Carlito extended his arms with a flourish: "_'I will begin with this confession: whatever I have done in the course of my life, whether it be good or evil, has been done freely; I am a free agent.' _" He mock-bowed.

"Cute," Batman intoned, turning to Gordon. "Casanova here is lying about the note. He's working for someone."

"I worked alone!" Carlito protested.

"Then why?" Batman pressed.

"Maybe I don't like it when I'm makin' a reasonable business deal and someone pulls some martial arts shit on me? Maybe I'm the innocent victim and that little broad's trainin' people to be killers, man!"

Batman growled. "Commissioner Gordon, would you mind letting me have a word with Sobalvarro, in private?"

"Sure thing," Gordon began to turn away.

"It was because of what you did to my brother!" Carlito blurted out. "He's rotting in Blackgate somewhere, ain't he? Didn't even get a trial, just got sent there on some third strike deal! So what better way to get back at you than to target a cause you probably believe in, huh? I saw you talkin' to the self-defense teacher late one night, and I found out who she was—"

"So for revenge? Interesting theory, but I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Your brother wasn't arrested until _after _Danielle Lee had already been given the first note."

Carlito was oddly silent, but the slightest sheen of sweat moistening his forehead gave him away.

"I see your employer sent you in uninformed," Batman said in an offhand, pitying tone. "You didn't even know about the first note, did you? I'll ask you again." His eyes narrowed. "Who. Do. You. Work. For?"

* * *

As Zsasz stepped off the bridge, safe on the other side, he looked around. Blue signs advertising a soda company blinked against the grey sky. Amazingly there were people milling around on the slick streets. What day was it anyway - Sunday? Monday? Why wasn't everyone at home, warm in their beds, or at work, noses to the grindstone?

Which way to go? To the right the streets seemed grittier, darker, and he imagined that neighborhood must have more crime. There were tall apartment buildings, residential areas, and the lights of Gotham General Hospital flickering in the distance. To the left seemed livelier - the streets and stores were lined with red, green, and white lights. Everyone was gearing up for the holidays.

His feet led him left.

A cinema lay ahead, overlooking a social square. A giant fountain with an angel statue stood in the middle of the square, drained and covered.

People wandered through, laughter drifting on the wind, warm jackets with soft hoodies thrown back in joy of the rainless weather. The rich, sugary aroma of hot chocolate wafted over, making him gag. Too much sappiness. So many happy people in their little couples or their little families, while he had no one, no one to come home to but that wretched Voice. People with nothing better to do than wander around, blind and cruel to the people who needed their help, until something horrible befell them. And even then, it was still all about their plight and no one else's. Then for a while, their pain became their meaning until they found their happiness drugs, and so the cycle continued, always racing for something they could never have, while stepping over those who had even less. Unempathetic, plastic ragdolls wandering aimlessly through this world. Had any of them ever crossed a bridge on their own two feet and contemplated what it would be like to fall? Had any of them ever hit rock bottom? He would show them. He would show them all. Soon they would all understand.

He took off his own hoodie, leaving himself exposed and bare-chested. Now he stood out from the crowd. Now he would show them the true meaning of life.

"Little piggies! The time has come to meet your salvation!" Heads snapped up in alarm. A small child dropped his ice cream cone. It looked like strawberry. He always did prefer—what was it? _Cherry._

"Oh God! He's got a knife!"

Finally noticing him, the crowd began to back away.

He gave the terrified people his best smile.

"Soon your meaningless lives with cease and you will enter into a higher plane, freed from your mortal coil and endless suffering, liberated by yours truly!" With a sudden movement, he stabbed a woman in the chest as she tried to rush past him. Blood spurted from her bosom and she collapsed, gasping and moaning. He believed he might have punctured a lung. At least, that's what the gurgling sound would attest to. Several people screamed.

"H-hey, you don't have to do this…" another scared woman took a timid step forward, motioning for her children and husband to stay behind her. One of the kids tried to grab her hand, but she waved him back.

"Really, Mister-"

"Call me _Zsasz!_"

"Mr. Zsasz, you don't have to hurt anyone!"

"Oh, but I do—"

"Look, if you want money—" she held out her hand, wallet in palm. Considering, Zsasz looked at it for a moment, then looked right into her face, a dark, menacing gleam in his eyes, and smiled chillingly.

With a shriek, the terrified woman drew back her hand as Zsasz attempted to stab it. She backed up rapidly, stumbling into her husband, who dragged her out of the way. Only then did she and her family realize that Zsasz had severed her fingertips with his blade. Zsasz savored the look on her face, her mouth hanging open, disbelief slowly blooming, as though the window of illusion before her eyes had finally been shattered.

And then everything became a blur for Zsasz. He was vaguely aware of the movement around him, the people trying to rush away from him, slipping as they tried to escape, even a brave few who tried to fight him. They fell, one by one, clutching various wounds. Some were still after they fell on the bloody streets, eyes wide and unblinking. Both his knives were becoming slick, and he gripped the blades very tightly to avoid losing them.

One by one, he slaughtered them, listening to their screams, which sounded so much like _pigs._

When he blinked, the square was empty. Bodies both dead and alive littered the ground. He counted thirty dead before he lost track.

_'Is that all? Killer, you disappoint me.'_

"Shut up," he whispered furiously, his high quelled slightly by the abominable _thing_ in his head. "These people are all liberated. I did my work! I did this work for my higher power, not for you—!"

_'Surely I trained you better than this,'_ The Voice condescended. _'Wait until the police arrive. I want the stones of this square to run red with the blood of humanity, pouring out and making way for something better!'_

"But you said—" Zsasz trailed off as he looked down at his arms. They were devoid of scars still. He looked at the strewn bodies. The thought that came next had him gasping and clutching his chest in swift, painful apprehension.

How would he know where to mark? He needed to know which spots were already taken!

Panicked, he ran his fingers across his skin, smearing it. **_He needed to remake all the marks!_** He must reclaim every single person he could remember before he could even _think_ of adding more people to his roadmap. But to do this would take hours! He needed to start now!

His hand moved instinctively. The blade cut deep. Barely pausing, Zsasz removed it and plunged it in again. _Yes, surely this is right. I feel like these two spots were marked. I—can almost remember who was here! Surely, now that they are in my flesh, now I will recall who they were!_ The knife ran slick. One tally of five complete. The pain was searing in his arm. Had he ever made this many marks in one day? He must have!

_Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash!_ Another complete tally made, five liberated people memorialized in his temple.

Zsasz was gasping, eyes wild, shivering with his exertions.

_'Ruining my handiwork, Killer? I had made your body into a blank slate that you might fill it again, with more lost souls—'_

"Shut up!" he said aloud. "I will never forget the people who were here!" His voice grew higher. "You will not take them from me!"

_'You are weak. You do not have what it takes to liberate the whole world. You must cleanse your temple, time and again, the way the ocean cleanses the sands of the beach.'_

"You're NOT HELPING!"

_'Why not? You never were a big thinker. Moving, idly, from target to target, following your impulses. Fortunate you are as I guide you on your sacred mission.'_

"Shut UP! You're not even real. You're just a ghost of reality residing in my head."

_'Poetic…but pathetic. I'm as real as the scars on your body, Victor Zsasz. Oh wait…'_ The Voice laughed cruelly.

Zsasz's knuckles went white.

"I'll show you what's real!" he growled, and without waiting for a reply, plunged the knife into his flesh once again, deeper than the other times, hissing as he threw back his head in pain and ecstasy.

_This spot was for a—a banker. That was it! This banker I liberated when we crossed paths in a café. Everyone else was watching the news about one of my kills, a recipient of my work, and this man would not look up from his laptop! Crunching numbers, counting his meaningless money… And for what? His kids, his wife, his retirement? Well, I made that wish come true for him early. His family got their reward, their investment, when they found him at his bank, propped up behind the third teller counter from the door. Ahh, it feels good to remember—!_ His skin was itching. More memories, more marks were coming out. He grinned in anticipation.

"You don't know me or my work," he gloated. "How could you ever appreciate my work?"

_'I know you better than you think.'_

The world pitched suddenly. Astonished, he looked at his arms. Crimson slashmarks everywhere. It was beautiful. Blood poured from his wounds, making a soft patter onto the cobblestones beneath his boots.

Suddenly, the night he escaped from the underground labyrinth came to mind— He remembered running, over these same stones. Confusion set in. Had The Voice been with him even then, helping him escape?

There were more marks to make. There were four very important marks he needed to do before he could do any more. As he raised a hand, the world pitched again and he found himself on his knees, looking into the eyes of a dead woman. His stomach lurched wildly. _What is happening to me?_

He tried again, but his arm wouldn't work. How strange—One knife clattered to the ground. He used both hands to steady the other knife, raising it to his forehead. Then, sudden blackness. He was still there in the world, he was sure of it, but he couldn't see…

Had he succeeded? When he felt the warm blood rush down his face and across his eyes, he knew he had. And there were sirens. He could hear them, as if from far away. His head struck the pavement. Too late now to escape.

_No matter… He felt so woozy…_

Maybe when he woke up, he could chew out The Voice for failing to warn him. Wasn't The Voice supposed to be all about self-preservation?

Zsasz blacked out seconds before the first officers made it on the scene, the site of a cold-blooded massacre.

* * *

The sound of a lone chickadee filtered through the air. The fog had cleared and now the sky was unusually sunny for winter, warm enough to go without sleeves, and Danielle and Mrs. Phillips were delighted by it.

"I admit, dear child, I have never enjoyed a tea party here before."

"Isn't it perfect? No one comes here, there are nice benches to sit on—"

"And the flowers smell divine," the old secretary leaned forward slightly to smell a sprig of lavender blossoms.

Almost no one in the hospital remembered the small courtyard just outside of Danielle's self-defense clinic. It was only accessible from the bottom floor, and the sun only shone in it at certain times of day. In the center area was a raised bed filled with herbs and flowers. Four benches surrounded the stonework around the bed. Danielle and Mrs. Phillips sat quietly in the sunlight and the self-defense instructor pulled out a thermos from her backpack, as well as two teacups.

"Oh, dear, you didn't have to bring the good china! I'm sure a cardboard cup from the café would have sufficed—"

"Nonsense! It's Monday and we need to start the week off right!" Danielle replied cheerfully, pouring some green tea. Mrs. Phillips sipped thoughtfully.

"Think it's getting warmer each year?" Danielle mused.

Mrs. Phillips paused. "A few years ago, it was one of the coldest winters we had ever seen. At the time, everyone blamed Mr. Freeze. He was in Arkham City, you know…"

As Mrs. Phillips chatted on, Danielle's mind went back to the news she had received from Commissioner Gordon. So they had caught the Note Writer. Her students were safe. Yet she felt an unease she hadn't before… Should she have shut down the classes? What right had she had to put her students in danger? What if the Note Writer hadn't been caught - what if a student of hers had been attacked, or even killed? Even now, she wasn't sure what the right answer was. She opened her mouth to ask Mrs. Phillips her opinion.

"—But my dear, the most miraculous thing is that since the Arkham City days, our people now have more hope. They didn't have it for so long, you know. The Joker's passing changed many things… but I think they needed more than just one less maniac. The people need their self-confidence back… and I think your class gave them those tools."

Danielle promptly shut her mouth.

"Not everyone in Gotham City might have taken your class just yet, but the more that people talk about it and hear about it, the more people think of saving themselves." Mrs. Phillips took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. "To me, dearest Danielle, that is a feat on par with the Batman's. I'm so very proud of you."

A surge of warmth filled her heart. Mrs. Phillips had believed in their mission longer than anyone – she was the one who made it possible! Where would she be, where would any of them be, without Mrs. Phillips?

She sighed. "You know, our mission was almost destroyed." Off Mrs. Phillips' questioning look, "There was someone who was leaving me notes, threatening the classes. The police only recently caught him, but for a while we were scared…scared we were going to have to shut down the classes…"

Mrs. Phillips blinked and then leaned forward slightly. "A person was…writing threatening notes, you say?"

"Yes…I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner." She winced guiltily. "There is something else I have to tell you-"

Mrs. Phillips looked alarmed. "Can you tell me more about the note writer first-?"

"I will." _He's not the immediate danger anymore._ "But first-"

A crackling sound interrupted them. Danielle sighed. Mrs. Phillips pulled the portable radio out of her bag. Even though one of the guards could take over her desk duties temporarily when she took a break, she always carried her radio with her during her shifts.

"This is Mrs. Valerie Phillips, standing by."

"All assistance is needed at the front," crackled the voice on the other end. "There is a large influx of emergency patients at the ER and morgue, all casualties of one suspect Mr. Zsasz. We are uncertain of suspect's whereabouts. Family members might begin arriving shortly, we need all assistance at the front, do you copy?"

"I copy and I shall return promptly, over." Mrs. Phillips stood up and looked worriedly at her. "Come and see me later today, my dear," she said, swiftly gathering her possessions. "There is something important I must ask you-"

Danielle was on her feet as well. The secretary looked confused.

_"Zsasz!"_ the young woman hissed.

* * *

The ambulances were already clogging the emergency entrance to Gotham General. She counted twenty before she lost track. Off to the sides, the paparazzi were waging a small, losing battle against the security guards. At least Vicki Vale wasn't there - she was probably at the crime scene itself. From the questions she heard the paparazzi asking, it was clear what had happened: Zsasz had gone on a rampage at Gotham Square. Her heart plummeted: she remembered a certain "date" they had gone on there, once upon a time, where he had threatened to slaughter everyone in sight if she made a sound. "He actually did it," she whispered, horrified. "He went back to Gotham Square and…and…"

She thought of the beautiful angel fountain, now spattered with blood. Dozens of people had paid the price. And now like buzzards, the press wanted to record the devastation first-hand, get the juicy story as the victims barely clung to life. She turned her head away disgustedly.

A half hour later, the ambulances stopped arriving. She knew that soon enough, the unmarked vans would begin to arrive at the hospital, but they would be driving to a different more hidden entrance - to the morgue.

In a daze, she shuffled inside the hospital to the indoors entrance that led to the emergency room.

She knew that she shouldn't be in here, that she was possibly getting in the way. But she had to see… She had to see what Zsasz had done. She pinned her hospital ID high on her shirt.

The medical crew was working as fast as they could. There were so many people! The onsite EMT had done the best they could, but there were so many in critical condition, and the line to the operating room was too long…

The people around her - she knew that these were the ones who were _not_ the worst off, and that knowledge made her nauseous. There was a woman in front of her. Her hand was bandaged, with blood seeping though the fingertips. There was also a bandage over one eye. Her other eye opened weakly and she regarded Danielle silently, but pleadingly.

She had never seen another victim of Zsasz before.

The women looked at each other. One lying on a gurney, blood seeping through her clothes, clinging to life. The other filled with so much guilt, a scarred survivor - a _failure_. She could have saved this woman and everyone in this room, if only she had killed Victor Zsasz.

She came to stand by the woman and tentatively put her hand on her shoulder. The woman closed her eye in relief. Danielle stood next to her until a nurse came to tend to her.

There was a line of gurneys heading for the ICU. She looked slowly down at the victims' faces. Children, men, women. Zsasz really was indiscriminate-

She gasped.

The first patient in line was...

"You bastard," she whispered.

* * *

For the longest time, she stood there. It was _surreal._

All this carnage surrounded them. All caused by one man.

And where was that man? Why, he was here, among the sea of people he had wounded and mutilated and attempted to murder, sleeping peacefully and painlessly with bandages on his arms and head, without a care in the world. Without restraints even! She half expected him to sit up, right here and now, knives somehow in hand, and continue what he had obviously started.

She gritted her teeth so hard she was sure she would break them.

_I should kill you,_ she thought to herself. _No more promises, no more sympathy for you. I could do it right here… I could even let it slip to some of the families that the killer is in the hospital, see how long you last then._

She clenched her fists as she glanced around the room, finally spying a pillow.

Grabbing it, she turned around - only to realize that Zsasz was gone! "Huh?!"

The doors leading to ICU were swinging. The nurses were wheeling him away.

Angrily she put down the pillow and stormed out of the ER, ignoring the nurses who looked irritably in her direction.

She caught up to Zsasz's gurney.

"Nurse," she hissed. "Nurse!"

The nurse with the paperwork whipped her head around, looking harried. "I need to ask you to leave at once, ma'am, we're in the middle of an emergency transport!"

"I need you to get security at once!" Danielle panted, leaning closer to the nurse, who opened her mouth to do just that - only for _her_. "I can identify this man as Victor Zsasz, the criminal who did all this!"

The nurse stopped. The technicians guiding the gurney paused, though they couldn't hear what she said.

"Shh! Don't tell anyone. There could be a panic. Just please! Get me security!"

The nurse promptly took out her radio and discretely hailed security. Then she gave Danielle a look and motioned for her to follow them.

As Zsasz was guided into the hallway of the ICU wing, the nurse pulled Danielle aside.

"Now I'll have you know that misidentifying him would cause serious problems!" she scrutinized Danielle's hospital badge. "Are you sure that this man is who you think he is?"

"Yes. I saw him five days ago. I am prepared to testify that this is that man."

"I will need to obtain his medical records. Security will be here shortly. You will need to make a report with them." The nurse walked away hurriedly, leaving her alone with Zsasz.

She looked down – and got quite a scare.

Zsasz's eyes were open. Immediately she raised her fists.

Zsasz didn't move. He was looking at her unblinkingly. She couldn't tell if he was awake or not, but it seemed like he was staring intently at her neck. As she watched him, slowly his eyes closed again, and his deep breathing resumed.

She exhaled shakily.

"I can't believe it…" she murmured.

"What can't you believe?" she spun around, only to find Batman staring intently at her.

_How did he get here?_

"I found Zsasz's blood at the crime scene," he said, answering her unspoken question. "There was a lot of it, but there were no reports on finding him. I doubted he escaped, not with that much blood loss. My search led me here…" He looked down at the unconscious man. "I see my instincts were right." He came closer. "Amazing…"

"You mean his marks?"

"His lack of them."

"Yeah… I can't believe he's back…" she said, finally answering his question, "alive."

"You have thought, all this time, that you had killed him, and really he's just been hiding out," Batman nodded. "You must feel a great weight has lifted off of you, to not be a murderer after all."

Her eyes darkened as she remembered what she had seen in the ER. "Right now, I almost wish I had been one."

She felt a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. "The police will handle him now. There will be justice for those people, and for you. The nightmare is over, Danielle."

She smiled gratefully at Batman. Then, with anger and sadness, she looked down at Zsasz again.

"Even losing his mind, his memory, and his marks, he still turned out to be a murdering bastard," she said softly.

"What?"

"When I saw him on Wednesday—"

"You saw him before now?" Batman grabbed her arm and pulled her away from Zsasz, into a corner of the hallway. He turned Danielle to face him.

"Explain."

"He attacked me on my way home from training. There was something wrong with him. He…he didn't remember things. He didn't know he was missing his scars until I told him."

"_What__?_"

"He didn't even remember _having them in the first place_ until I asked why they were gone."

_Something is even less right than usual. _Batman narrowed his eyes and then strode away quickly, cape swirling. "I need to check something out."

When she caught up, he was asking the attending nurse for Zsasz's paperwork. The original nurse still had not returned, nor had the security guards arrived. She tried to see around Batman's massive shoulders. 'Age: unknown, early 30s.'_ No, he would be 40 now. He was 37 when I saw him last. '_Patient has 12 fresh lacerations on his body, ten organized in tallies, large gash on forehead. No other distinguishing marks.' Batman was asking for bloodwork in a hushed tone. When the nurse shook her head, he moved forward, personal equipment in hand. The syringe slipped softly into Zsasz's arm. When the vial was full, he put it in his utility belt.

"I need to analyze Zsasz's blood. Danielle, make sure you head back to your office. You're needed there, and you shouldn't spend too much time around this man." Reluctantly Danielle left, sparing one last glance at her former tormentor. "Nurse, make sure this patient is restrained and use the utmost care in handling him. He's dangerous even when he's unconscious." He briefly remembered a certain incident at Leslie Thompkins' clinic and suppressed an internal shudder. "Call the GCPD and they'll send someone to keep an eye on him. When he's discharged, he's going back to Arkham!"

* * *

She walked back to the office, lead in her step, itching in her fingers and fists and head. _That murderer is upstairs…and I just walked away from him. I turned my back on him!_ Another thought warred with her. _He cut himself up… He wanted his marks back so badly… He's sick! He needs serious help!__  
_

Disgusted by her traitorous thoughts, Danielle shoved the door open roughly. Only then did she stop, suddenly nervous. She had been avoiding her office since last week, since she had found the second note. The little ditty chilled her blood.

The air in her office felt sinister somehow. Was it just her imagination? No… It seemed… Had her papers been moved?

_This is ridiculous. There won't be a note here. They caught him. They said they—_

She turned on the lights. And breathed a sigh of relief. Her papers on her desk were fine. Nothing looked amiss—

She grabbed her purse and fled.

…Except that _this _time, the note was on her _chair_ instead of on her desk.

* * *

"Dr. Murphy?" Nurse Wilson called out. "Dr. Murphy, I think you're going to want to see this…"

"What is it?" asked the handsome doctor. His piercing blue eyes locked onto the back of Zsasz's shaved head.

"Right here, doctor. Just beneath the skin…"

Dr. Murphy put on his glasses and leaned in closer.

"Please hand me the scalpel, Fiona…"

He teased the skin carefully, not wanting to disturb the sleeping man. The patient was thoroughly sedated anyway. But perhaps the man wouldn't be thrilled if he left an unnecessary scar. He didn't want a lawsuit.

Nurse Wilson gasped. The doctor frowned at the metal object resting on the fingertip of his blood-stained latex glove.

"Can you please take this to the laboratory. I want them to take a closer look, but…"

The metal blinked red at them.

"…It looks like a tracking beacon."

* * *

She stood in the doorway of her office again, shaking, purse dropped on the floor. There was no avoiding it. Nothing she could do. It was already there… and she knew she had no choice but to read it. With shaking hands, she opened the note…

**_Final warning I now send…_**

**_Endings will begin to end!_**

**_A second note you chose to pass,_**

**_Reckless are you with your class!_**

**_Goody Gertrude learned the twist,_**

**_As will you if your persist –_**

**_Soon you will be sorely missed._**

"Oh my god! No! Gertrude!"

Her fingers dialed as fast as they could. She could hear her own harsh breathing as the receiver began to grow clammy. _Pick up! Please, for the love of God, pick up!_

"Hello, police dispatch?"

"Hello! This is Danielle Lee, GCGH employee and self-defense teacher. One of my students is in immediate danger! Send help!"

* * *

Lights blared across the city. In the police cars sat grim-faced men and women, uniformed and suited up, always at the ready for the worst. As soon as the first cruiser screeched to a halt, police ran up the stairs of 29 Marsh Street.

_TAA TAA TAA!_

"Ma'am! Hello, Miss Gertrude Byrney, are you inside?" No answer.

_BAM!_ The door flew back, splintered wood flying through the air. Police rushed in, flashlight bouncing off the walls in the darkened apartment.

A nightstand tottered. Police spun around. A startled scream. "Stand down!"

Two kids hid behind the bed, scared eyes reflecting in the light. The older boy clutched his little sister closer, tears sparkling in tiny eyes. One officer ran forward. "Honey, where's your mama?" The little girl pointed, and the officers turned in the direction of the bathroom.

One brave officer stepped forward, cracked the door open just a bit. A lifeless hand fell into the hallway. No pulse. Another officer silently turned the newly orphaned kids' heads away as they sobbed.

Horror of all horrors. _No child should have to witness this._

* * *

Blue eyes fluttered open.

_Am I dead?_

White ceiling. White sheets. The smell of anesthetic. No mistaking it – _I am in a disgusting hospital._

It felt like his head had been hit with a buzz saw. Or possibly an anvil. In spite of the pain, he froze, cautious not to make a sound.

He moved his hands subtly. _Of course…_ He was tied to the hospital bed. _They would be cautious, wouldn't they?_

_I remember. I killed. I spilled blood in the streets… And I tried to recreate my marks. My body isn't used to pain anymore, not like it was before. I will need to go slowly the next time I endeavor to recreate my great work— Wait..._

The thought was slow to infiltrate.

The buzzing in his head, the confusion, The Voice… _it was gone. The evil Voice was gone! At last!_

And all his memories… yes...

All his memories had returned, neatly filed, fully functional, _and not a moment out of place_.

A predatory smile blossomed across his face.

_ Victor Zsasz is back!_

* * *

The computer in the Batcave beeped, and a cowled head looked up. _'ANALYSIS COMPLETE.'_ Batman pressed a button, and then the picture all came together.

Strange, rapidly reversing memory loss. The absence of scars or other blemishes. The miscalculated age. _The unusual compound floating in Zsasz's bloodstream…_

Only one thing made sense, but…

"It can't be!"

"Batman!"

"Oracle! What is it?"

"There's been a crime." _Another one? This has been a busy day, hasn't it?_ "I think you're going to want to investigate this one."

"Where is it?" he asked, pushing a button on the Batcomputer and turning it on standby.

"According to current reports, there's a crime scene set up at one Gertrude Byrney's house, 29 Marsh Street." Oracle continued as Batman made his way to the Batmobile. "It's unusual because there were no marks on her body, no obvious cause of death. Her two kids were there when it happened. But that's not the strangest part… She was one of Danielle Lee's students, even though she quit the class a few weeks ago. In fact, the call to the police came from Ms. Lee's office."

"Did she get a third note?"

"How did you-"

"I'm on my way."

* * *

Ten minutes later he arrived at the newest crime scene, still suited up, mind whirring. The van containing the victim's body had already left, but police were still all over the scene, red and blue lights flashing. He saw two kids - newly orphaned - talking to a social worker, huddled together. His stomach wrenched unpleasantly, followed by a surge of hatred for the Note Writer. Two more victims, two more children with their innocence and childhood stolen. He made a note to himself to talk to Leslie Thompkins and ask her to follow up with the social worker, check on the children's well being.

He saw a head of brown hair, a young woman leaning against a police car, tears streaming down her cheeks - his second time seeing her today. _Danielle_. She came, no doubt out of guilt. Her eyes were on the children as well, and he could see silent sobs wracking her. He approached her wordlessly. She looked up, and he read so much guilt in her eyes. First the dozens of victims in the Emergency Room…and now _this_. She was blaming herself for things she couldn't control; she was a lot like him in that way.

_Her classes._ He knew that her classes would be shut down at the soonest opportunity. He also knew, from the gut-wrenching gaze she was giving the two orphans, that this was the least of her worries right then.

She held up a paper silently. The third note. The one that had tipped her off to Gertrude's death. Her mouth opened, but no words escaped.

He took the note from her, gave her a soft nod. Her eyes immediately went back to the two children.

He pulled out a small plastic bag, preparing to contain the evidence. The top of the page fell open. He paused, reading the note, looking desperately for some sort of clue, some way to avenge those poor children.

"Final warning I now send / Endings will begin to end / A second note you chose to pass..."

"Oh my God." He stared at the note in astonishment. There it was. All along, the clues had been staring him in the face. It was so obvious!

He walked swiftly away from the police cars and tuned his cowl into Barbara's frequency.

"Oracle! I'm at the crime scene for Gertrude Byrney right now. I've just read a third note from our mystery killer. I need you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

"Contact Dr. Kellerman at Arkham Asylum for me. I need him to send me some files."

Her voice crackled on the com. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to arrange an autopsy with your father to examine Ms. Byrney's body… I think I know what killed her."

"You do? Do you actually know who this son of a bitch is?"

"Yes, I do. It's—"

_**-/-/-/-/-**_


End file.
